Good Again
by ct522
Summary: "The sun was rising, fingers of glorious orange, red and yellow crawling across the The window appeared as a frame around a picture, dawn's ascent bursting from the folds of a delicate skirt the color of burnt I sighed and turned back to Peeta, holding his hand against me. " - Katniss/Peeta discover that it can be good *2013 EVERLARK SMUT AWARDS WINNER*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**This is my first fanfiction and I have been working on it for a while. ****So please, please, please review!**

**If you want an amazing AU story that is well-written and full of intrigue and passion, check out Mockings Hall by TomiStaccato. It will rock your world.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything about the Hunger Games – this is all the property of Suzanne Collins. I simply play in her playground.**

**Chapter 1 - Waiting**

The first time I was aware of my surroundings in a sequential way was about two months after my return to District 12. Until that day, I was just barely conscious of sitting on the patterned sofa in the soft yellow formal sitting room of my house in Victory Village. Only the demands of nature could move me and that was only to use the bathroom, forcing me to uncurl the stiff muscles of my legs and back, a ragged shawl hanging limply over my scrawny shoulders. But my lethargy led me to root myself on the soft couch again and again, the throw blanket and my mother's unopened letter crumpled into a pile at my feet. I had not even ventured to any other room in the house. I noted the opening of my front door twice each day as Greasy Sae entered with her granddaughter and fed my meals to me. She forced me to sip water. She dusted and cleaned the house, skirting around me as if I were one of the brocade lamps that the Capitol had furnished together with the ornate curtains and elaborate rugs of the room. I'm surprised she didn't dust me with the rest of the furniture.

I merely existed in that period. My days were lost in dark places, so bleak that the hours ran together, interrupted by the horrible nightmares that fell upon me each night. Prim's little body burning up over and over before me as I was rooted to the ground, powerless to intervene. Sometimes it was Rue being gutted by a Career, Finnick shredded by muttations, Peeta hurling himself at me with red eyes, his fingers sinking through to the bones of my neck – the parade of horrors endless in its variety. The lack of sleep turned my listlessness into a state of waking death.

The only thing my subconscious mind made a point of noting was the delicate yellow that made up the main color of the living room walls, the muted shade reminding me of something else, the edges of my memory struggling to allow a warm orange into my mind. But the thought entered as quickly as it left. I desired nothing – not memories, nor the other rooms of the house, not food or water. Life had forced me to be a survivor so I passively refused to accommodate its wishes. Greasy Sae kept me alive those first two months, for looking back, I am sure I would have simply expired from doing nothing. If I could have made myself stop desiring to breathe, I would have. However, even desiring death took effort and so I simply did not do anything at all.

I sensed the more random and infrequent visits from Haymitch. He sat in the soft, plush chair caddy-corner to my sofa, a flask in his hand and would keep me company, some afternoons for hours. He didn't speak, at least never more than "Hey, sweetheart." Sometimes he drank himself to sleep on that chair, the alcohol laden snores poisoning the air, choking it with toxic fumes. But I did not protest. He was there like the plants that grew outside my window. When he left, it would be up to Greasy Sae to open the windows to make the air healthy again.

On the day when the world began to intrude on my depression, it was less the feeling of being shaken awake then a slow admission of light under still-sleeping eye lids. I managed to shuffle to the kitchen to have breakfast with Greasy Sae and her daughter. Greasy Sae looked at me, taking in my unkempt state and turned her gaze out the window as if I had always sat at breakfast with her in the morning.

_ "Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out." _She says. _"Go hunting."_

I flirted with the idea for a moment and even considered fetching my bow and arrow, which Greasy Sae assured me, was down the hallway. However, I was not able to will myself to walk that way for several hours, the very act of considering a decision enough to overwhelm the synapsis of my brain. When I finally did shuffle quietly to the study in the late afternoon, the only thing I took amongst the few items on the table is my father's hunting jacket, leaving my family's plant book, my parents' wedding photo the bows and sheath of arrows Gale managed to rescue on that dreadful night of District 12's firebombing. There was also the box containing the spile Haymitch sent during the Quarter Quell, the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena and the grey pearl I could not bring myself to think further about. Wrapping myself in the worn leather, its weight penetrating my concentration, I lay down on the indentation that my months of inactivity had created in the plush sofa and sink into a fitful sleep.

My sleep was ripped apart by a terrible nightmare that lasted an eternity in my sleeping world but carried me to the morning, the grave in which I was buried alive surrounding my mind until I was awakened by a scraping sound that entered through a window I had forgotten to close. Unfurling my frame, weak from unconscious thrashing, I stepped outside of my door and around the house to see him with a wheelbarrow full of flowers and dirt.

Something lurched in my chest and immediately the feeling overwhelms me. Having felt next to nothing for so many months, the shock to seeing Peeta standing before me made my mind weak to the point of incomprehension. He starts at the sight of me but proceeds to tell me something about Dr. Aurelius not being able to treat me if I do not respond to the phone while I fixate on the wheelbarrow full of dug up flowers. They almost provoke a murderous animosity in me, until I realize that they are not the hateful white roses I had first imagined, but evening primroses. Sweetly fragrant in yellow and white, Peeta tells me _"I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."_ The exchange ends with my nodding my assent and I immediately step back inside the house.

I had been waiting, immobile and unchanged, for something on that baroque sofa. I hadn't known that I was waiting, nor for whom or what I waited.

The day he arrived with his wheelbarrow, my addled mind registered in a moment what I had known in the hollow of my bones, if not in my conscious waking mind.

The day he arrived with his wheelbarrow, I hurled the evil flowers that Snow made sure I would find. I took my first bath in two months. I had my first conversation with Greasy Sae. I went hunting, though it physically annihilated me. Buttercup returned with my grief made manifest. I opened the letter mother gave me and called her, further releasing the blackness that had held me immobile in my filthy clothes and lumpy sofa..

Spring had returned.

I had been waiting for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you for the reviews! It motivates me to have people enjoy what I am writing.**

**My next fanfiction recommendation is Rebel by HGRomance. Another AU fanfic, Peeta channels Jimmy Dean and Katniss is no less than an Amish maiden but it works so well, you won't put it down.**

**I'm shutting up now. Enjoy! Oh, and btw, all this Hunger Games greatness does not belong to me. It is all Suzanne Collins' doing. I don't own a thing.**

**Chapter 2 – Bringing back the dead**

The next morning, Peeta came with fresh bread. Seeing him, Greasy Sae knew enough to make breakfast for him also. I fed my scraps to Buttercup and no one protested. I still managed to cling to my muteness, saying very little to anyone except to tsk, tsk Buttercup, trying to entice the mangy beast to take more bacon from my plate. Peeta did not demand the attention, choosing to converse with Greasy Sae, his easy manner so very much like his old self, it was hard to see the signs of the Capitol's hijacking except in the occasional melancholy that would descend on him when the conversation lapsed into silence.

"I went as far as the Hob today." He said, inviting Greasy Sae with his comment.

"Thinking of making an open market, they are." said Greasy Sae.

Peeta sighed. It was not lost on me that he had not mentioned his family's bakery. "It will be nice to see the place busy again."

"I might be bringing back my trading table. Hope they don't fancy it up, though. Can't imagine squirrel stew being on one of them trendy café menus." Greasy Sae followed this comment with a wrinkling of her already creased nose, chortling at the absurdity of it.

"No." Peeta offered with an easy smile. "I can't see that being very popular in this District. There aren't enough people as it is for the little bit of trade that takes place already." His blue eyes darted quickly over to me but shifted quickly down to his eggs.

They continued in this manner and I began to lose the thread of the conversation. I managed to summon the courage to look at Peeta full-on. He seemed thinner than he had been in District 13, a slightly hollow look sat around his eyes. The blue of his eyes, however, were still arresting. Only now was I aware that I had missed the color of the sky that his eyes could take on and was riveted by the flecks I could just make out in the iris of the one eye I could see, his faced turned in profile to say something to Greasy Sae. His hair was floppy but trim, the blond curls conspiring to catch every glint of light cast by the sun and determined to reflect it back as spun gold. In my small kitchen, he seemed to fill up the space with his broad shoulders and muscular arms. I let my eyes travel down to his fingers, strong and calloused, the tint of some dark color staining the tips of his right hand. A soft down of blond hair raced in gold up his arms, thinning near the biceps and escaping into his white t-shirt.

It was there that I saw the raised, shiny scar like a lick of flame snaking up from his left shoulder, racing in tendrils up his neck, spreading just beneath his ear, another flaming brush stroke just sweeping over his jaw, cheekbone and disappearing into the hairline just left of the center of his forehead. I could just see where that bit of hair and scalp had scarred and curls would have grown but the rest of his thick hair compensated and covered the scar.

The stillness of the room became oppressive as I became aware that I had been staring at Peeta for more than a few minutes. Greasy Sae looked at me and glanced down at her drink, making to move towards the sink. Peeta, however, sat impassively, staring back at my scrutiny, looking directly into my eyes with such boldness that I thought he could see to the other side of my brain. His features began to soften and a smile reached his eyes before the side of his faced pulled up.

Embarrassed, I broke off the stare first. He must have thought me certifiable (technically, I am, according to the terms of my confinement to District 12). I had nothing to say all morning, then suddenly, I am staring at him as if he had sprouted extra arms. I nervously smoothed the table cover in front of me before standing up to put my plates in the sink. Usually, I leave my plates on the table but despite my mortification, I am unable to simply quit the room, so I put myself to the task of washing the breakfast dishes. As I run the water, there is a shuffling behind me and the clink of dishes. I soap the water and scrub my plate, tensing suddenly as I sense his presence next to me. Sliding my eyes over to where he is, I glimpse the kitchen towel in hand.

"I'll dry the dishes." Peeta states simply.

I look over to him and whisper, "Thank you." My voice sounds strangled to my ears, so out of practice am I with regular speech.

I pass my rinsed plate to him, careful to avoid touching him. I cannot touch anyone, can't handle the implications of any human contact. I only tolerate Buttercup but despite his ideas to the contrary, Buttercup is not human so petting him does not count. Peeta just dries the dishes quietly, a slight tension emanating from him. Did he want to speak to me? Was he waiting for me to say something? After months of sitting in silence, attempting to block out the world, this bit of nervous stimulation nearly overwhelms me. I feel a teacup slide through my now-trembling fingers. It would have fallen to certain destruction had I not recovered quickly and snatched it firmly into my hand. He was Peeta, for heaven's sake! We had kissed each other, laid in each other's arms for countless nights, almost died for one another and I couldn't even bring myself to say good morning.

Swallowing my rising terror, I manage to say it, just pushing it through the cotton in my mouth.

"Your fingers are stained."

Peeta pauses a moment to look at me before responding, "I was mixing paints yesterday. The colors can be hard to get out."

"You're painting." It was a combination statement and query, sounding flat to my ears.

"Yes. It's therapy and besides, I've missed it. I only had scraps of paper and thick, dull pencils to draw with in the hospital," he said easily.

I pondered this a moment. "Couldn't Dr. Aurelius get something better?" This was the most I had spoken in months.

"That was the best he could do. They were afraid I would hurt myself with anything sharper." Peeta seemed to catch himself with that sentence and, seeing no recovery, simply looked down at a plate with fierce concentration, as if it would yield up the secrets of the universe. His entire body became rigid with tension.

I gripped the edge of the sink, feeling a keening rise up in my throat. It was beyond conscious thought, this primal urge to wail. But with great effort, I subdued it and simply whispered instead to him. "I'm sorry." Not being able to bear the way the room had begun to contract around me, I dropped the sponge I was using and walked purposefully from the kitchen, passing Greasy Sae without a word. When I rounded the corner and stood in the vestibule, I began to tremble uncontrollably, my breath coming in gasps. I just wasn't ready for his pain. I could barely stay conscious under the weight of my own. What made it more maddening is _I_ was responsible for what happened to him and marveled that there were only a million ways I could hate myself.

I heard Greasy Sae whisper in response to something Peeta said. "Don't be foolish. Why wouldn't you come back tomorrow?"

Peeta sighed and whispered back, "I don't know if I should. Maybe I'm just making things worse. Maybe she needs more time."

"She's had too much time already, balled up like a stone to the world!" hissed Greasy Sae.

I straightened up immediately at the thought of Peeta not returning, a terrible desperation taking over me. His suffering undid me but I was simply more selfish than wise, even in my broken condition. I knew that I would still be in the inky blackness of my personal hell, swimming in a sea of grief that largely wore the tender face of Prim but featuring a host of others, both dear and distant if he had not returned to me.

_To me? To District 12_, I self-corrected.

They were still discussing me. The old Katniss would have been enraged at their referring to me in the third person but insanity had shifted my priorities and changed the ways I could be offended.

I returned to the kitchen and sat down wearily. "Come back tomorrow." I said, unable to control the tremor in my voice.

Peeta looked sheepishly over at me as he gently dried the last dish, knowing he had been overheard. He weighed his words carefully. Did he sense that even normal speech could shatter me in a thousand pieces?

"Of course. I'll bring the bread." He quipped, putting down the plate. I could hear the smile in his voice and the room suddenly felt airier. He gazed at me with such intensity but the tension had drained from him. The feeling of heaviness seemed to retreat slightly at his change in posture and I breathed the change into my lungs, feeling a quickening in my muscles, a pleasant tightening and expanding of my chest. It was as if I had been underwater for too long, my lungs burnt. I was breaking through the surface of the sea, catching my first breath after nearly drowning. Lungs sore from disuse, there was relief in being able to breathe. I lifted my eyes and smiled at him, befuddled by the lovely blue of his eyes, managing to speak. "Good, because I'll be waiting for my bread." A movement next to me seemed to stop suddenly and, if I shifted my eyes to the right, I was sure I would see Greasy Sae watching us, watching _me_, maybe with wonder in her eyes at my feeble attempt at a joke.

I mean, it's not every day that she saw people come back from the dead.

**That's my girl! **

**There's some more angst and then good things coming up. I'm bringing back Haymitch in the next chapter so be sure to follow me so you can get those updates. And I will warn you when I am ready to throw in lemons, I promise! **

**Review me! I thrive on your feedback!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm touched that you have taken out the time to read my little addition to the wonderful collection of growing together stories. **

**The images in this fanfic were inspired by the painting Flaming June by Frederick Leighton. There is no way of knowing where a person's mind will go.**

**If you have a passion for mythology and legend, I have to recommend HGRomance's Goddess. It is really one of the more unique stories I have read and could stand alone in any Universe. Be sure to check it out!**

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games and all characters are the sole property of Suzanne Collins. **

**Chapter 3 – Dawn **

After our kitchen exchange, Peeta came by each morning, a fresh loaf in hand. He stayed for breakfast, bantering with Greasy Sae, occasionally inviting me into the conversation. I rarely articulated anything very grand, simply short answers or moving my head in assent or negation. I ventured out of the house to hunt and continued the renewed habit of bathing each evening and breakfasting with Greasy Sae and Peeta on most mornings. As the days progressed, however, I began to look out towards the lawn, every sound and scrape I heard caused me to tense with expectation outside of the breakfast hour. When the sound resulted in nothing, a vague sense of disappointment stole over me and strengthened with each day that passed.

I took to watching Peeta's house, observing his activities as I perched on a bay window facing the road, his own house rising over the swell of the wild green lawn. His house did not face mine, as the road curved to the left, two houses between us, so that my view of his house was actually of one side together with the large back yard that characterized the typical open space between each of the homes in this part of town. To the left of my home was Haymitch's home. The front lawn was strewn with the waste of geese who, more often than not, escaped the haphazard fence he had built to contain them. Only two months and the house already screamed dilapidation.

As the road began its descent into town, there were three more lavish homes before the expanse of another giant lawn which flowed gently up to the stone pillars and low stone wall that marked the southernmost boundary of Victor's Village. The once electrified fence was further down the road to town, also to the left. The entrance I preferred was located there, far enough away from the center that I did not run the risk of meeting anyone during few excursions to the forest.

From my window, I could see the lights of Peeta's kitchen in the early morning twilight, no doubt as he rose early to bake. I wondered if he had a terrible time sleeping also and observed more than once how the lights in the downstairs of the house always seemed to be on at night. I watched him as he left after day break to work behind the house, breaking and tilling the ground for what I believed was a garden. His limp was not as noticeable from where I sat but I knew it was there in the way he struggled to kneel in the grass. On one particular day, the crisp spring air seemed to shimmer around his blond curls as he worked. At that moment, he turned his head towards my house, lost in thought. Certain that he could not see me I nevertheless tried to melt into the curtains. His pause continued for a few more moments until he returned to his work.

Haymitch visited me during those first weeks after Peeta's return. He entered without knocking and walked directly to the sitting room, obviously expecting me to be parked in my usual spot. Watching him from my window, I could see him freeze and tense up when his eyes fell on the empty, lumpy sofa. An uncharacteristic urge to smile came over me as I was witness to a rare moment of confusion. His head swept the room until his eyes fell upon me, partially hidden by the thin material of the white curtains. I caught the birth of a smile but, being Haymitch, he gathered his features into a smirk and released the breath he was holding.

"You finally decided to get up, sweetheart?" he said as he walked over to where I sat. "And regular bathing suits you. You should do it more often."

I looked over at his disheveled hair, wrinkled clothing and _the smell. _ I wasn't so far gone to ignore it anymore.

"You're one to talk. You smell like goose shit."

Haymitch looked taken aback and let out a whoop of laughter that almost made me jump out of my skin. "Welcome back, sweetheart! I see your coma did nothing to improve your personality." He continued to chortle, taking a swig of liquor from the small metal dispenser he always carried with him. He looked out the window in the direction I was looking and took in the sight of Peeta seeding the ground. He was on his hands and knees, thick gardening gloves buried deep in the earth. I could almost smell the worms and humidity from my perch, a sliding woodsy air going straight to my lungs. I involuntarily breathed deeper. Haymitch looked at me for a moment and seemed to debate something. I lost a bit of patience with him.

"Greasy Sae, Peeta and now you. What is it with just speaking your mind? I'm not going to break." My voice rose at the end of the sentence because honestly, I wasn't sure what would break me and maybe I wasn't being truthful about it.

Haymitch put his hand on my hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness. "But you _were_ broken and I prefer your rotten scowl and foul personality to that." He gestured with his head towards the sofa. He withdrew his hand and we were silent for a moment when he continued. "Instead of stalking him, just go out and speak to him."

I didn't say anything at that. I had spoken enough and it would take too many words to explain that the kind of initiative required to start a conversation with Peeta was just too much for me right now. Speaking to him alone might lead to conversations about things that would easily push me back into the void. Perhaps the world did well to speak carefully around me.

"You know, he wants to come to you as badly as you want to go to him but your imitation of a lifeless lump has everyone walking on eggshells." Haymitch persisted.

"I'm not ready yet." I whispered, looking down at my hands.

"Well, hell, if you always wait until you're ready to do things, things would never get done."

I sighed as I considered his words. Haymitch sat down in a settee near a bookshelf and we kept a companionable silence for a while until the light of the midday sun began to make the room heat up and glow. Peeta retreated to his house, no doubt the weather too warm to continue his work. Taking one final swig of his drink, Haymitch grunted as he straightened up. He was already buzzed but was not so far gone that he lacked coherence. He turned to me as he prepared to leave, swaying slightly. "Nothing wrong with wanting to live again." At that, he staggered to the door and stumbled back to his house.

My mind was too heavy with thought and I suddenly felt very tired. I had moments of quickening, an urge to find my old self in the things around me, in the woods and the animals. Sometimes I wanted to walk to the Seam and look to the old shack where I had lived my entire life and seek out the happiness I felt when my father sang to me. I wanted to feel my mother's fingers in my braid before my father's death had caused her to abandon the world. I had fantasies that I would go up the rickety stairs of our little home and find Prim waiting for me with a bit of goat cheese and berries, her death a misunderstanding and her voice singing out with a bright smile "Silly, didn't you know I was here all along?" I wanted to go to the forest and find the snares Gale set, his stealthy feet sneaking up behind me and tickling me, making me whoop until I had scared half the animals away and hear him say "Now what are you going to catch Catnip? You ran off the forest." I missed these things. But I was deathly terrified of bumping into the furniture of that life. My father, my mother, Prim, Gale, even District 12 – they were all ghosts now and in leaving, had taken most of me with them.

Evening found me still seated at the window. Greasy Sae prepared a stew and placed it on the table, shuffling around to straighten things that had not been crooked and leaving the most crooked thing of all to watch the night descend on Victor's Village. She approached me quietly, probably wanting to speak to me but I continued staring out the window, my forehead resting on the window pane. She seemed to think better of it and walked away, leaving the vestibule lights on. I heard the click of the door as she closed it behind her.

The nightmares that night were particularly distraught, filled with exploding children and singed blond braids. Everyone I loved died again that night and I became aware of a darkness blossoming from the center of my body. It was impossible to breathe, to even want to breathe, and the numbness of the first two months threatened to overwhelm me and pin me to my bed. The air was thick with my terrors, the screams in my dreams lingering in my ears like nails scraping a chalkboard, causing my teeth to chatter. My face was wet with tears and though I did not sob, the tightness of my facial muscles told me that I had been screaming and sobbing in my nightmares.

Soon, I became aware of a gentle pressure at the edge of my mattress. Penetrating the feeling of deadened flesh was the warm sensation of a hand stroking me, gently caressing my shoulder and arm, a murmur reaching my ears. Another hand was moving the hair that had stuck to my forehead and smoothing the strands over the pillow. I heard my name like the sound a butterfly would make with its wings. I turned my face to the side and saw two dilated pupils embedded in orbs that, even in this dim light, glinted with the blue of a summer day.

"Peeta." I fairly moaned.

He got up from his kneeling position and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Shhhh…Katniss…it's okay. It's just a bad dream." He murmured, running the back of his hand over my face, tracing the jaw line with his knuckles. His face was indescribably sad.

I lay confused, trying to catch my breath. I sensed my bedding wrapped around my right leg, most of it in a pile on the floor. I unclenched my still-balled fists and crossed my hand over to the arm he was stroking, grasping his hand with mine and bringing them to rest just under my ribcage. Almost of their own volition, our fingers intertwined and latched onto one another. It was the shadow of the cave, the picnic in the garden, endless nights in the Training Center and the Victory Tour, working on the family book, the beach, the alley in the Capitol - except there was no terror or mortification. It was an alternate world where my entire life had not been ripped to shreds, the ribbons of which I did not have the means to tie together again.

But Peeta was here.

As the fog of sleep began to clear, I noticed the sun rising through my window, just facing northeast. I was curious about why he was here, at this ungodly hour, barefooted and in pajamas. I turned to him, the slowly brightening gray light of receding night touching his face, making his features come into focus. "What happened?" I asked?

"You were screaming. I could hear you across the lawn." He paused, a tremor moving through him. "I couldn't stand it anymore, Katniss. I couldn't stand the screaming. I've listened to you since I came back and tonight it was too much for me. I'm sorry if I shouldn't be here." His face was sad, the melancholy that always seems to be lurking about his eyes settling into the features of his face, a terrible compliment to the dark circles. He stopped caressing my hair but left the hand that I clutched where I had placed them.

"No." I said, my breath returning to normal. "Please. I'm glad you are here." At this, the tears escaped quietly down my cheeks. He brought a thumb up to wipe them from under my eyes. "Is that why you didn't come? Because you thought I didn't want you here?" He nodded slowly.

I realized that I had been waiting for him to come at a time that was not just for breakfast, the vigil I held was for him. But how could he know this when I was just realizing it myself? So I held my tongue and turned my face toward the window again. The sun was rising, fingers of glorious orange, red and yellow crawling across the sky. The window appeared as a frame around a picture, dawn's ascent bursting from the folds of a delicate skirt the color of burnt copper. I sighed and turned back to Peeta, holding his hand against my cheek.

"Look at the sunrise. It's your orange." I snuggled deeper into the skin of his hand. I felt a deep contentment as the warm orange penetrated every corner of my broken soul. Peeta looked up towards the window and at that moment, the light settled into the curls of his unkempt hair, his impossibly long eyelashes reaching out into the air. The fuzz of hair on his pale skin seemed alight in an unearthly gold. If I were ever visualized the ancient fables from before the Dark Days that I had heard as a child, I would have imagined that Peeta was what my father would have described to me as an angel.

"_You_ reminded me of that." he whispered, his voice thick with feeling.

As he turned back to me, I sat up and reached my hands up like a child asking to be picked up. He pulled me to him, my arms winding around his neck, my face buried in the crook between his shoulder and his head. I felt his cheek press into the side of my head, his arms pulling me almost painfully to his chest. He stroked my back boldly, with an open palm, one hand running into my hair, curling into my own locks as if he would pull hard, fingers scraping across my scalp. I held onto him with equal fervor, my body automatically remembering the feel of him, his aroma of sugar and uncooked bread. I never in my life wanted to be whole as badly as I wanted to be at that moment.

I would figure it out.

As I clung to him, I could feel the gentle warm orange of the sunrise turn into the heat of a new day.

**Please review and I will be eternally grateful. The next chapters will be K/P all the way so bear with me! Things will start to look up for our lovelies.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A million thanks to TiffOdair for volunteering to Beta. I appreciate you! Your feedback has been so important to me.**

**Sorry it took so long to post – long weekend means lots of people in the house and no time to write.**

**Fanfic Rec: With Eyes to Hear by Amelia Day. All I can say is Wow!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything about the Hunger Games.**

**Chapter 4 - Things that grow**

I had no urgency leave this spot. I was perfectly content to stay here, leaning against Peeta, feeling the warmth of the open window upon us. I let my fingers draw patterns on his chest while he stroked my hair. I was trying not to overthink this, just allowing his comfort to flow over me. Too much thinking would only make my chest clench and I did not want to visit that yet.

We stayed this way until the birds finished their morning song and soon, people who could sleep at night would wake to go about their day. With a sigh, Peeta pulled away to look at me. He took my hand, gently running his fingers over my knuckles. My stomach automatically became cramped with a kind of anxiety, but I smoothed my other hand over it. I did not want to feel this way, not with Peeta but I could not always control the way my body reacted.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked gently.

I shook my head. I didn't want to verbalize all of the horrors I had seen last night.

"You know, Dr. Aurelius could help you with this. He's talked me through some very horrible nightmares. Maybe talking it out with him will help you too. He has been waiting more than three months for you to reach out to him."

Remembering the lights he leaves on in his house at night, I can't help but ask "Does it make it easier for you to sleep at night."

Peeta sighed, his dark circles betraying him. "I haven't slept well since before the Games. But I've learned a lot of strategies for dealing and I've gotten a little better."

I was quiet for a moment and surprised myself with my curiosity. "What about the hijacking?"

Peeta's eyes left my face and looked at a point somewhere over my shoulder. "There are things I don't remember sometimes. I try to draw what I remember of my life before the games but it is hard to confirm these things since there is no one to ask."

"Peeta, you can ask me. I can try to help you."

"The 'Real or Not Real' game was really helpful. But there are some things I may not ever get back." He whispered sadly.

At least my losses were external to me. Peeta had lost at least as much as me and missed parts of his mind also. And yet here he was, trying to comfort me, while his own nights were surely ripped apart by his own terrors. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it, our fingers winding again automatically. I was in awe of him.

He shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming less forlorn. "I'm going to go home to change and then come back. Are you alright with that?"

"Yes, Peeta, of course. You can also stay after…" I stammered a bit. "You can stay after." I repeated awkwardly. I was tracing the veins on the back of his hand.

Peeta smiled at this. "Okay. I'll be right back."

I looked up with a small smile of my own. "Don't forget my bread."

Peeta smiled widened. "It won't be fresh."

"I know it will be good anyway." I shrugged.

Peeta passed his knuckle over my cheek one more time before walking down the stairs. I was still in the same spot when I heard the door close. The imprint of his hands on my skin lingered as I rose slowly and went about preparing myself for the day. After a nightmare like last night, I would usually just stay in bed. I still feel ill with the memory of last night's images. But Peeta's comfort strengthened me. After Prim's death, my breakdown in the Capitol was treated as something that should be kept secret. I didn't have Peeta then, working as he was through his own hijacking. People sympathized but could not imagine what it was like to be in my skin, to have gone through two Hunger Games and a war that took the only person that I could be sure I loved right before my eyes; to lose your best friend, not to war, but to anger and suspicion; to be abandoned, not once, but twice by your own mother; to lose Peeta.

But Peeta understood these things. He had gone right through the fire with me and maybe worse but was somehow trying to get out the other side. I could not stay in bed in front of all of that.

With this resolution, I walked into the bathroom and decided to take a shower. I turned on two of the showerheads, a luxury I had never allowed myself before. These were Capitol designed homes, after all, so no expense had been spared to create a product of lavish comfort and I rejected them almost instinctively. But I had a desire today to be good to myself. The steam already relaxed my muscles even before I stepped into the extra-large stall. I melted further in the heat and began washing myself with the creamy soap I had come to prefer. It smelled like clean, with no fruity or flowery elaborations.

I ran my soapy hands over my skin and felt the raised scars along my back that wrapped around my waist up to my ribcage. I had smaller stripes of scars along my upper right arm and shoulder, with licks of flames on my neck and legs. They had done the best they could in the Capitol but even body polishing would not work with scars so deep. Initially, I didn't care – I never wanted to forget how cruel human beings could be. However, there were times I missed the feeling of being whole and smooth. My skin was beginning to look better now that I was eating more frequently but the olive softness was interrupted by patterns of flame and they annoyed me.

These thoughts instantly made me feel guilty. I thought of Prim and felt myself be pushed away from the comfort of the water and heat of the shower. She should have had her life. She would have become a doctor, married and had children. Instead, she had become ashes scattered to the four winds. The mere thought of this made me almost double over in pain. How could I think of smooth skin and creamy soap?

I violently switched the water off and roughly dried myself. This was difficult to do with the big, fluffy towels the Capitol provided with the homes. I was frustrated with my thinking and my inability to stop the onslaught of grief. I could feel myself sliding into the darkness again and began to busy myself to fight it. I walked over to the gilded vanity in my bedroom and sat in the delicate chair. I carefully brushed the knots out of my hair, now shoulder length after having been singed off during the bombing of the Capitol. I looked down to study the items on the small table. There were unopened creams, lotions and powders. There was also an elegant white box which, when opened, revealed tiers that folded outwards on mechanical arms. In the top tier, there were different shades of eye shadow and blush. The second tier contained lipsticks and lip liners, with makeup brushes and puffs located in the last tier. I didn't have the skill or interest to wear these colors so I closed the box and opted for the medicinal cream prescribed for my burns which I was haphazard about using. I stood and spread the cream all over my scars until they were soft and did not pull on the surrounding skin, a constant source of discomfort. The combination of the warm bath and the act of spreading the cream over my body made me feel relaxed again.

I then walked to the large walk-in closet and opened it. It was ironic because the things I usually wore would fit in a drawer if I so chose to put them there. Everything else here was Capitol issued and I was usually resolute in ignoring them. It made me think of Cinna and his friendship, the way his hands flew softly but purposefully over the most exquisite materials, converting dead fabric into a work of art. I thought about the way his vision of me improved my own self-estimation, converting my defects into strengths. While I thought of what he meant to me, my mind would bring forward the images of him being beaten to death before my helpless eyes. I shoved the images out of my mind as violently as I shoved aside the hangers of glamorous clothing to reach the simpler dresses Effie had been mindful enough to include in my supposed wedding trousseau.

Effie.

The panoply of people I loved that I would never see again began to people my vision, pulling down at me like the evil wraiths of my childhood fables. I froze and put my hands to my head, screaming "Stop! Just stop it!" I breathed deeply. I was not going to do this. I was not going to let the horror of their passing, the absolute emptiness of their absence ruin my memory of them. This game of remembering that lead to immobility had to stop or I would not survive the rest of my life. I knew where it would lead, I knew the darkest fantasy of my depression would become reality if I let this happen. There had to be a way to remember without the daggers of desperation slicing through my will to live.

With that resolution, I put my every effort into finding something to wear. It was too warm for the hunting jacket and pants. I wanted to wear a dress but I wanted it to be in the style of District 12 dresses. I knew how those dresses fit and they reminded me of myself. At last, I located a suitable one, a yellow dress with pastel green butterflies resting on delicate white flowers. The dress had a collar but it also had a v-neck with faux-pearl buttons running to just above the waist-line. The dress skirt flared and went just below my knees. The sleeves were short and were slightly pleated at the shoulder, ending in a loose elastic band that wrapped around my arm at mid-bicep. It was my size but loose because I was still slightly underweight. The line of the dress elongated me, giving the illusion of being taller than I really was. I had a fleet of shoes in rows along the back of the closet, fabulous stilettos, weirdly designed boots with open toes – very little of practical value. Finally, I gave up and pulled on a pair of socks to wear with my walking boots.

By this time, my hair was still too damp to braid so I left it loose to braid after breakfast. I fixed my bed and walked down to the kitchen. I could hear that Peeta and Greasy Sae were already preparing our meal. Greasy Sae's little granddaughter, Daisy, the one who lived in her own universe, was also there, playing with a sock puppet near the table. They were so busy with their bustle that they did not see me go to the cupboard to gather the placemats for the table. Peeta was the first to look over at me as he warmed bread and stopped. His body frozen, his cheeks became flushed under his sun-kissed skin. His eyes ran the length of me, from my loose waves to the hem of my dress. Despite myself, I felt a warmth creep over my cheeks and I felt self-conscious until his eyes came to rest of my sock-clad feet. It was then his face broke into a grin.

"Love the socks." He chuckled softly before completing the motion of bringing the bread to the table in the basket. His eyes twinkled with mirth and his face looked less drained than this morning.

His comment made me wiggle my toes and I proceeded to place the mats on the table. Greasy Sae glanced up and had a less subdued reaction, putting her wrinkled hand over her mouth. "You are a vision, Katniss. A real beauty, you are…" She shook her head in wonderment at the sight of me.

Instead of placing my mat at the far end of the rectangular table, I was seized with the impulse to place it near Peeta's usual spot. As Peeta set the dishes, the edges of his mouth pulled up. Daisy was set in my previous place instead, her sock puppet marking the territory as hers. Settling in to eat, Greasy Sae attended Daisy's plate, making sure the little dreamy girl ate, leaving Peeta and I to our own conversational resources.

"What are you growing in your garden?" I asked.

"Summer vegetables mostly. I ordered some seeds from the Capitol that don't typically grow here but I want to try like zucchini - which I've read are easy to grow - arugula and spinach."

"What is arugula?" I was intrigued.

"In the hospital, Dr. Aurelius was able to get books for me. Some were for baking that dated back to before the Dark Days. Katniss, did you know before the Dark days the world was filled with so many people before they were wiped out? They were divided into states and countries and they each had their own type of cooking – the most insane foods. It helped me to copy recipes that I thought I would like to try but many of my favorite ones came from a place called Italy. They used food in the most simple and creative way. That is where pasta comes from." Peeta was transported as he spoke, barely touching the real food in front of him in favor of imaginary ones. "Anyway, there are recipes that call for certain vegetables that we have never grown here. District 11 had special farms for these types of vegetables – that is how the Capitol was able to have them. I am going to grow them and make a few of the foods that I read about."

I smiled. "I still don't know what arugula is."

Peeta smiled sheepishly. "Right, sorry. So arugula is a kind of crisp, almost bitter green that I've read is eaten with salt, lemon and olive oil. It can be mixed with other greens also. I want to try it."

"Would you show me your garden?" I asked.

"It hasn't grown much yet but we can walk over after breakfast."

We continued our conversation this way until we were done eating. Peeta told me about Oriental Cuisine, which he did not think he could replicate. I was very interested when he spoke of French cheeses, my fondness for cheese equal to my love of chocolate. At this, Peeta's eyes brightened, his smirk making me think he was plotting but what, I could not discern. We dutifully began cleaning the kitchen but Greasy Sae ran both Peeta and I out of the house. We walked along the road, the sun warm but not impossible hot.

Peeta brought me to his garden. It was enormous, and represented a great deal of work. He had built a low fence around the plot of land and there was a scarecrow that I had not seen from my window. I had never seen such a large garden. There were potatos, carrots, peppers, tomatos, onions, garlic, different greens – it was mind boggling. He showed me the exotic vegetables he was trying to raise – zucchini squash, arugula, eggplant. When I asked him why so much, he responded that the garden was not just for him but for me and Haymitch also.

I was so touched by this. Looking up at him, I said "If that's the case, let me help you with it." I said. Pushing through my usual inertia, I continued. "This is a lot of work for one person."

He smiled at this and took my hand, squeezing it. Then he ran his hands up my arms to hold each shoulder and looked at me intensely. "I would love it if you helped me. But only on one condition." He paused and took a nervous deep breath. "Call Dr. Aurelius. Please." I started to pull away at this, looking away from him. "Okay, I'm pushing too hard. I'm sorry." I kept looking down. "Just think about it Katniss, okay?"

"I can't." My words came out strangled.

I was shaking at the thought of talking to anyone about my dreams, my terrors, the dark fantasies that seize me when grief and self-hatred become too much for me to bear, the darkest fantasy ending in my own self-destruction. I thought if I started to describe these things, I would find no end to the pit in my heart until I myself fell headlong into it. I began to feel my heart race and my breath become shallow. It was visible to Peeta because I felt his arms go around me, steadying me, his hands over my hair, smoothing the strands down, murmuring his apologies in my ear; "_I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's okay. I just don't want you to suffer so much."_

My breathing deepened as my nerves became calmer. I looked up at Peeta and his eyes were glassy from tears he was trying not to release. It was just a suggestion, after all. Would I have reacted that way before everything? I felt like shattering every time I made a decision. It was tedious and draining and I did not know how much longer I could keep myself together.

"Alright, Peeta. I'll call him. I'll call Dr. Aurelius."

**Katniss can be so stubborn sometimes!**

**Review please! If you have any ideas or suggestions, I am open to all of them. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A million thanks to TiffOdair for being such a great Beta. I know you are busy but you always make time for me. Go to her profile page and check out her Avengers fanfics. **

**HG Fanfic Rec: Jamie Sommers The Road to Recovery. It was one of the earliest growing together stories I read and it was recently updated. One of the best out there.**

**Thank you for your reviews – they really keep me writing!**

**Chapter 5 – Flashback**

When I agreed to call Dr. Aurelius, I didn't mean right away. I put off making the call and instead, Peeta and I spent a good part of the following weeks together, working in his robust garden. It was companionable work, the conversation always safe and polite, evading the oceans of things that needed to be said because our serenity could not endure the disruption. We blossomed in evasion and thrived on superficiality. The distractions of daytime alleviated my nightmares somewhat but, for Peeta's sake, I closed my bedroom window so my night terrors would not cause him to lose sleep and run to my house.

One day, as we were working on weeding the tomato plans, Haymitch appeared. He walked over to Peeta's porch, dragging a chair around to the back of the house to sit and watch us work. The morning was hotter than usual and rivulets of sweat were running down my back. Peeta seemed on edge and took the opportunity to chide him.

"There's enough work here for you too, you know."

"Nah." Haymitch drawled. "Don't want to interfere with you love birds."

I sent daggers his way, scowling fiercely, which only cause him to laugh louder, downing a draught from his ever-present bottle.

"I didn't realize mentoring included executive supervisory privileges." I retorted.

"Those are some awfully big words. Don't go hurting yourself. Any way, it's one of the perks of power." Peeta and I just roll our eyes at each other and continued our labors. He seemed to be uncoordinated today, grasping and missing weeds with shaky hands. I put my hand over his and whispered, "Are you okay?"

He looked at me, his eyes brighter than usual. "I didn't sleep well. I'll be fine in a bit."

"We could just take a break." I suggested.

"No, I'm fine. I want to finish this." He said curtly.

I nodded warily but accepted his explanation.

In the meantime, Haymitch was at it again. "Boy, I sure could go from some squirrel stew right now. What do you think, sweetheart? Feel like dusting off the old weapons and fetching us some lunch?"

I froze at this. I had hunted very little in those months. I loved the forest and missed the solitude, the fresh air of morning as I moved stealthily through the woods, the feel of the bow in my hand, the flick of the arrow as it slipped through my fingers and into my prey. The quickening was a feeling I could not find in any of the other corners of my daily life.

But the woods had become a place of ghosts. I wandered in and thought immediately of Gale and my heart rent itself in two. This was our pursuit – no one outside of my father had ever gone into the woods with me. In the past, it was a crime to do so. Now, going into the woods without Gale required me to construct a new persona and I did not think myself up to the task of battling those ghosts. And yet, the call of the woods was a lonely keening in my soul and yielded suffering equal to remembering. I was in an uneasy frame of mind when Peeta searched my eyes quietly before whispering "No one can shoot squirrel like you do. Clean shot right through the eye. I would trade cheese buns for that."

I involuntary popped my head up, both at his father's quote and the tempation. "Cheese buns? You haven't made those for me yet!"

"Don't make the people wait!" hollered Haymitch. "Go fetch us some squirrel, woman."

Peeta gave me that look that made me feel like he knew what I was thinking before I did. His hand seemed to twitch involuntarily around the handle of the shovel but the tremor stilled with a clear tightening of the fingers that rendered his knuckles white. I wondered at him a moment but was caught again by my thoughts. I could not tell Peeta why I was reticent. I knew that his tolerance of my moods, his indulgence of my insanity, was partly a remembered reflex of the love he once had for me. I was in no condition to consider my feelings, only knowing that I would die to keep him safe even now but it was a another stretch to consider _love_. Love was pain and loss. Love was a trap that constrained you to self-sacrifice towards an uncertain end. Fate had been cruel with my love and I was hesitant to hand it over again. In light of this, Peeta's cheese buns seemed like a shallow excuse to go. For all my uncertainty, I had shared next to nothing with him and surely could not share this sadness over Gale. I promised myself I would just enter the woods and catch the squirrels and come right back.

I walked back to my house to fetch the hunting bag, bow and quiver that held my arrows. Walking towards my woods was like walking towards a grave. The air, though materially the same, felt icy and cold to my lungs the closer I got to the fence. Before, when I went, I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing, simply searching for the place that had once brought me comfort. Now, however, I was much more aware and the absence of Gale struck me like jagged shards of ice. It was always so e_asy_ with him. It made losing him to the suspicion and war so much more raw. Maybe because there was no question in my mind – I knew where he was in my heart. It was not the anxiety that I felt with Peeta, the feeling that there was no real category for him, that he was beyond any category.

My head began to throb as I forced myself through the fence. If I could just focus long enough to catch the damned squirrels, I could go back to them without explanations.

I stepped quietly, out of force of habit and trained my arrow on the unwitting squirrel. I did this three more times. I took very little time to clean and bag them before I was through the gate without a backward glance.

**XXXXX**

I returned to Peeta's house, finding no one in the garden, Haymitch's pilfered chair laying on its side. I suddenly felt the goosebumps raise along my spine and involuntarily crouched, scanning the area for danger. I gripped my bow, readying an arrow from the sheath. I heard a muffled sound inside the house and sprinted toward the doorway, a familiar panic rising in my chest. There was no good reason but it was no accident that I was a good hunter. I could smell weakness and danger a mile away.

I saw the blood on the floor the moment I opened the door. Hurrying inside, I stopped and listened again. The sound I heard outside was in the receiving room and crept carefully inside, rounding the corner. I stood frozen in the door way.

All I saw was Haymitch's back. He seemed to be facing the sofa. Just beyond Haymitch, I could see that Peeta was seated on the sofa. But what arrested me was the shaking. I could not see his torso but his legs were jerking and I was sure his entire body was spasming. As I walked forward and peered past Haymitch, I could see the blood coursing down Peeta's head and down on to his shirt. There also seemed to be a wound on his lips, causing another rivulet of blood to wend its way down his chin. Horrified, I went to get a towel from the kitchen and prepared myself to clean his wound, the way his body trembled terrifying me.

"Haymitch! Are you just going to let him bleed to death?" I hissed, moving towards Peeta.

Haymitch held his arm out. "Don't touch him. He could lash out and hurt you."

"What the hell is this? Damn it, Haymitch, what is happening to him?" I made a move towards Peeta again, this time more aggressively, his blood bringing me back to my desperation in the cave. Haymitch grabbed both of my arms and fairly shook me.

"It's a flashback. He does such a good job of hiding it you'd think the kid is fine. Damn, " whispered Haymitch with furor. "You can't just walk up to him. He could do anything in this state."

"Haymitch, he bit through his lip and is bleeding from his head. I'm not going to just do nothing." I broke away from his grip on my arms and knelt in front of Peeta, all the while hearing Haymitch swear at me under his breath and move closer.

"Peeta, please can you hear me?" I said, trying to catch is glazed-over eyes.

His shaking became more pronounced, his teeth gritted together. Strange, animal-like moans escaped his throat.

"Peeta! Not real. Not real. I don't know what you are seeing but it's not real. Please, Peeta, come back to us. Come back to me." I attempted to caress him but he seemed to jerk away. I tried again and the response was less pronounced. I continued to caress his face, his hair, whispering to him that everything was going to be okay, that the sounds he heard were just us. His face was splotchy, jaw clenched, fists balled up on his lap. I was seized with an awful heartache for him. How long had this been happening? How stupid of me to think that he had escaped unscathed, that something inside of him hadn't been irretrievably broken also.

He was still trembling uncontrollably. My heart was shattering again, the fault lines that had formed during the Quarter Quell and his capture were yawning open and I, too, shook with the effort to not sit in a corner and scream in rage and desperation. Instead I straddled his lap, leaning into him and holding him. His head shivered on my chest and I murmured into his ear like I would Prim when she woke from a bad night after my father's death. I was so desolate, the tears welling up again. How did I have any left to shed? I kissed Peeta's face gently, laying tiny kisses across his forehead and cheeks. His eyebrows tickled my lips as I continued to sweep kisses along his temple. Haymitch stood like a sentinel next to me, ready to intervene if Peeta became aggressive but there was no need. The flame that had been lit by the tracker-jacker venom slowly spent itself and Peeta relaxed under my hands and lips. His arms began to unclench and wrap themselves slowly around me. In a voice drunk with exhaustion, Peeta turned his bleary eyes at me and whispered "I'm sorry."

I shushed him gently. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Lie down and rest. I have a squirrel stew to make, remember? I'll wake you when it's ready." I made to get off of him but he gripped me tighter, his strength belied by the clear exhaustion of his face.

"Don't go."

I looked up at Haymitch. He was watching us with such intensity that he did not look like he had ever drunk anything in his life. With a sigh, he took the hunting bag that I had dropped on the floor in my haste to get to Peeta and carried it to the kitchen.

"You got me to cook after all." he murmured, more to himself and I heard him busy himself with cleaning the squirrel. I turned back to Peeta and held him tightly again.

"Do you want to lie down?" I whispered. He nodded against my chestbone. I shifted my position to allow him to lie down on the couch. I placed a pillow under his head and quickly kicked off my boots. He shifted so that I could also lie next to him, my head resting on his chest, arm running languidly along his stomach and arm. I hooked my leg between his, feeling the solid hardness of the prosthetic under my calf. We didn't speak, the only sound being the muffled movement of Haymitch in the kitchen. He brought one hand over to my hair and pressed me to him, running his fingers slowly over me. I sensed that he had little energy for much more. In a few minutes, Peeta's breathing slowed and it wasn't long before his irregular breaths had turned into the even rise and fall of slumber.

I lay with him a bit longer, trying to calm myself. I had not seen Peeta like that since District 13 and it was terrifying. The dilated pupils despite the sunny day, the sweating and shaking – I knew what these things were. I was so disappointed in myself, believing he was okay. Was I in such a hurry to see him well just so I would not have to hate myself for allowing him to be captured and annihilated by the Capitol? He seemed, by all accounts, well-adjusted, a success story. He was the only person in the history of Panam who had successfully recovered from a hijacking.

The dark circles under his eyes told another tale.

I didn't notice right away, taken in by the healed persona he projected. He was the Peeta of old - sweet, funny, sharp Peeta who always said the right thing at the right time, every time. But as I reviewed my memories of him, I notice a certain tremor in his hands, a tension that would slip into his shoulders. He often excused himself with one reason or the other. My attention had been focused inwards and I did not catch the signs.

It wasn't until this afternoon that I understood that he was pretending.

And Haymitch was conspiring with him.

I carefully unwrapped myself from Peeta, trying not to wake him. His features were smooth, forehead still caked with blood and lip swollen from where he had obviously bit himself. I would clean him when he woke.

I walked silently into the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind me. Haymitch had expertly cleaned and cubed the delicate meat and had it in a stock with vegetables he found in Peeta's refrigerator. I had to resist the urge to swat him with a nearby broom and opted to simply speak.

"What. Was. That?" I hissed at him.

Haymitch shook his head. "What you saw was a flashback."

"I know what I saw." I snapped. "I didn't think he was having them anymore."

"And what would have given you the idea that he wasn't having them?" he asked.

"Well, I never saw them, for one." I hedged.

Haymitch seemed to become exasperated with me. "Katniss, were you even paying attention? He doesn't sleep, he pretends to go to town when he feels an episode coming on." He paused, pinching his nose. "You think I really just love to watch the pair of you sweating in a garden? Do you think I really needed squirrel stew for _lunch_ on a warm day like today? God, Katniss. If you are going to be self-righteous, at least be present." He threw down the dish towel he was holding.

I was stunned at his outburst. I hadn't caught a thing. Yet, my mind went immediately to the trembling hands, the curt response. Haymitch must have saw an episode coming and intervened in the only way he could. How could I have been so blind? I was filled with self-loathing at my complete obliviousness. I let Peeta down again; the only purpose for my place in this world was to hurt him over and over. My self-loathing turned to rage.

"How could I have noticed when you were doing such a good job of covering it up?" I screamed.

Haymitch's eyes narrowed at me. "Katniss, I'm only going to say this once and I won't say it again. I know for a fact that you love him." I opened my mouth to argue - _what_? What could I say to that? "Anyone who saw you in the Quarter Quell could understand it – except, of course, for you. That said, you need to make a decision on what that means." I wanted to interrupt again but he put his hand up to stop me. "No, don't. If you don't want to call it love, call it whatever the hell you want but in the meantime, the sun rises and sets on you for that boy." I was going to say it wasn't possible he could still love me but I was cut off again. "I know you have been through it all but you have got to realize that your actions or lack thereof have consequences for Peeta. If you can't handle what it means to feel the way you feel – because you're traumatized or unstable or just don't love him enough, then give him a break and let it go. Because this half-ass whatever you have on your side is going to kill him. He's got nothing here but you and me and I'll be damned if I'm going to keep him here to just keep an old drunk like me company. He's got too much inside of him to do that – always has. Can you get that into your thick skull or not?" He pointed at his head for emphasis.

I put my hands up to my head, holding it on each side. I was defeated by this and the fire with which I entered the kitchen bled out of me, leaving me empty. "Haymitch, I don't know if I have it in me to do what you're asking. But how would you understand? I can't even stand myself most days." I was whispering now, so ashamed and hopeless with myself to summon the energy to say more.

"I do understand it. I was Peeta to my own Katniss once and I know exactly what it's about. Think about it. I'll take care of Peeta."

At that, he turned around and kept working on the stew. I felt like I had been dismissed. It was unbearably sad to see Haymitch in this new light and it was probably for the best that he did not wish to speak to me anymore because I was completely overloaded and just needed to get away. I was a chaotic mess of emotions and had lost my ability to function. I concentrated on getting my things and taking the walk back to my house. Opening the door, I dropped everything on the floor, not bothering to turn on lights or open windows. I ran up to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it. I threw myself on the bed, curling into a ball, hoping above everything else for the world to go black forever.

**Love Haymitch! I'm working on a one-shot with him. I'll keep you posted on that.**

**The next few chapters will start to heat up. I'll alert you and be sure to review! I try to respond to all of them and I am eternally grateful.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Hunger Games.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I can't praise my Beta, TiffOdair, enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you! **

**HG FanFic Rec: The Invisible Seam by DeeDeeINFJ. Can anyone ever get tired of reading variations of the "Real, Not Real" moment in Mockingjay? This one ranks high in sweetness.**

**Don't be shy…review!**

**Chapter 6 - Amends**

I didn't leave my room that day. When night came, I was still balled up in my bed. I got up to wash and change into pajamas but returned quickly to bed. I did not eat, even when Greasy Sae knocked on my locked bedroom door to leave my meal outside. My thoughts would not line up for me so I kept circling back to the same thoughts over and over again.

_"__I know you love him."_

_"__The sun rises and sets on you for that boy."_

_"__I was Peeta to my Katniss."_

My cheek rested on my pillow, hands grasping them tight. In the dark of night, when I fell asleep, I was seized by a vision of Peeta in the cave, rising from the filthy floor, pus and blood oozing in thick rivulets down his legs, his hands reaching, reaching for my throat. "Why didn't you just let me die?" he kept asking over and over as he closed in on me. His face was twisted in a snarl. "It would have been faster than this" he whispered before clenching his fingers around my neck and crunching the bones in my neck. I awoke from the nightmare, gagging from the lack of air in my dream. I sat up in my bed, trying to situate myself. Satisfied that I was, indeed, in my room, I lay back down to stare at a point in the ceiling until dawn made her presence known.

But I still did not rise. Again, Greasy Sae left breakfast outside the door. Again I ignored it. Having been accustomed to eating, though, I resisted until midday before opening the door to nibble on the cold eggs and over-dried toast. I left the tray with its half-eaten contents outside the door and crawled back into bed.

Another day passed in this inert way when an anxiety began to build in me. This became more acute when I heard my name being called. At first, it was gentle, just outside my door. "Katniss, open the door." I froze when I understood it was Peeta and the guilt I had been wallowing in took over in waves, rooting me to the bed. This was who I was - unreliable, selfish, a user of people whose only mistake had been to love her. I put my head under a pillow to drown out his voice.

As if a switch had been flipped, the calling became more insistent, accompanied by pounding as Peeta's desperation became more evident. "KATNISS!" The pounding rattled the door jamb, causing me to jump up in the bed. It reminded me of his voice during the Quarter Quell, when we became separated at the lightening tree and it filled me with the same terror. There was a muffled shuffling as I heard Peeta being dragged away, Haymitch's raised voice filling the corridor. "She's not ready to leave. Don't do this."

"This is crazy! What if something happened to her?" Peeta's voice carried throughout the house.

"She's obviously okay if she's eating." said Haymitch, trying to be reasonable. "You're going to have an episode if you keep this up. She's a grown woman. She'll come out when she's ready."

As he was being dragged away, Peeta's angry voice was clearly directed at me. "Is this how it works with you? One flashback and you want nothing to do with me. Is that it, Katniss?" He was screaming so loud, the walls seem to reverberate with the insanity in it. I could not make myself go to the door on my own. I dug myself deeper under my pillows. My stomach became nauseous from the nerves.

"Let's go. NOW!" called Haymitch.

"I don't need a fucking babysitter, Haymitch!"

"No, but you do need some common sense. How persuasive do you think hollering and banging around her house is going to be? "

I could hear Peeta's steps, already so heavy by default, stomping out the door, slamming it with a frightful force behind him. The yard seemed to crumble under his feet.

Haymitch - who was he protecting? Me or Peeta?

Hearing him forced me to the heart of it - Peeta needed protection from me. The better part of the unfinished business left over in my life, after my grief, was with Peeta. Like the sun, he had arrived in District 12 with his slow burn and sent his heart into every corner of my life. But what had I been able to give him? What had I done besides take his bread, his company, his goodness? If I had never before reached the height of self-hatred before, I managed to do so today.

**XXXXX**

I stayed in my room for two more days, with all the attendant nightmares. The longer I stayed the more mortified I was with myself. How would hiding in this room really help things?

I began to wonder – were his nights as endless and tortured as mine? I knew from experience that he did not thrash out his night terrors. Even his nightmares were such that he bore them alone, entering into a state of ramrod tension as he saw the terrors reserved only for him, not bleeding into the atmosphere like mine. He told me once that his nightmares were of losing me but finding me near caused his horrors to recede. Did his nightmares become more unbearable now that I had kept myself away? How did he do it on nights such as these?

Did I really love him despite myself? What would it look like, if I did? Would it mean trying at all costs to save him in the Arena, at the expense of myself and in consequence dooming the family I loved to starvation? Becoming mad with grief when he was not rescued in the Quell, hiding in closets and exhaust tubes? Sending almost an entire squad to their deaths in my desperation to reach the Capitol and Snow, to avenge what they had taken from Peeta, from me? Is that love? I shook my head with all of it.

And now, that he was here, what had I done? The indulgence of my grief, my selfishness, had blocked him from view, leaving him to wend his way alone through the maze of his own darkness.

I was becoming restless with my impulses. It was pitch-black outside, the sun having set many hours ago. I swung my legs out of bed and quickly walked down the stairs. I slipped on my father's hunting jacket to ward off the night-time chill against which my night gown was nothing, running my fingers through my hair to straighten the wildness of sleep. As I opened the door, a wall of cool mist hit my skin, making me shiver all over. I ran the short distance across the three lawns of the other houses in Victor's Village to Peeta's front door and opened it. When I saw that only a small light had been left on downstairs, I knew he was sleeping and so ran the risk of startling him out of whatever torture-induced horror his sleep had brought. But I had left him alone for too long and I needed to fix this.

Slipping through the unlocked door, I left my boots and jacket piled at the entrance. Quietly, I walked up the stairs and stopped at the top of the landing. Even from here, I could feel the gentle breeze floating in through the open window in the bedroom that Peeta insisted on leaving open. Peeta's house had the same floor plan as mine so it was easy to find the master bedroom on the right side at the end of the hall. Peeking into the room through the doorway, I saw him. He was in his bed, rigid, his hands clenched to his side. His back was so tense he almost arched off of the bed.

As I neared him, the distortion of his beautiful features shattered my heart. I sank down on my knees beside him and stared at him. He was the only one who was too good for the Games, the Revolution, this half-life hereafter. That he should suffer so much because of me tapped a mad rage inside of me, a rage so white I had to physically force it back down. That particular fire would do me no good here.

Being next to him in this way, out of context and in the dark, was so intense, I had to repress a powerful urge to run away. Instead, I gently took his hand and held it to my chest.

"Peeta," I whispered.

Peeta stirred in his sleep but did not wake right away. I tried again, gently applying pressure to his hand as I whispered his name again. "Peeta."

He groaned and said with utter clarity "Katniss." The hand I held squeezed mine painfully but I held on. He was still sleeping so I brushed the locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead, revealing the singed path that the fire had made in his hairline. This movement had the effect of waking him. He sucked in his breath at the sight of me. "Katniss?"

I was momentarily ashamed of having woken him but recovered and whispered "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He sat up on his forearms, awake but also confused. "Katniss, what…are you okay?" he stammered.

Words escaped me and I simply looked at him, feeling dumb and mute, forcing myself to recover. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

At this, Peeta sat up completely and looked at me. The dim light of the room made his eyes unfathomable as he retained his confusion. I moved from my kneeling position onto the edge of the bed. I felt my words fumble around my mouth as I began to get emotional. I didn't want to turn into a sobbing wreck. "I…oh…I'm sorry Peeta. So sorry…"

Peeta settled into his seated position, perceiving perhaps that I was apologizing for more than just waking him. "Katniss, what is this?"

The words fell out of my mouth. "I failed you." I whispered. "In every way. When Snow asked me to prove to him that I was in love with you, I didn't realize he would actually be convinced. I gave him everything he needed to break me. When you were captured, he took every propos I made out on you. And he was right – it did break me." I looked at a point somewhere on his t-shirt. "Then you were rescued and I realized that there was no _you_, that you had been hijacked…" I hiccupped with a repressed sob but pushed forward "…that you didn't love me anymore, even hated me to death, I could only think of getting to the Capitol and killing Snow myself. You had died to me and I couldn't take it."

Peeta reached towards me to hold on to me but I did not allow myself to go into his arms, shaking my head. "Let me finish." I said, putting my hand up to stop him. "But that was me being selfish again. Because I should have tried to get you back. I should have helped you. Instead I went a little crazy and abandoned you again." Now the tears flowed freely. Peeta began stroking my hair and trying to shush me but I was not ready for his comfort.

"And then when Prim… just everything…" I vaguely swept my hand outward. "I had no room for anything anymore."

"Remember we said this is what we do." I whispered. "We protect each other. Except I couldn't protect you from anything and I failed you in every possible way."

Peeta protested. "That's not true, Katniss, you were always trying to protect me, to protect everyone."

I became agitated and almost screamed at him. "No, Peeta! Don't do that. Don't you dare just go on and be good. I don't deserve it. Don't go doing that." I put my hands over my face and sobbed into them.

At this point, Peeta pulled me to him and me. This annihilated me further and I began to hiccup. Of course it would be like this. I was supposed to ask forgiveness and give comfort but he always comes out the better, comforting me instead. I leaned into him and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, the tears sliding silently onto his t-shirt as I buried my face in his neck.

Peeta sighed as he began speaking. "When they rescued me from the hospital, I wasn't even taking in what was happening. I mean, I knew I was being rescued but I was disconnected from all of it. When you came to me in District 13, all I knew was that I hated you. I thought everything I had suffered and lost was happening because you made it happen. That is what I was made to believe." I pulled back to look at him. His eyes had taken on a faraway look. "But I kept remembering other things – the valley song, the bread I gave you, drawing with you in your book of plants, nights on the train. I remembered loving you – how could I be of two minds about the same person? I began to question each and every memory, sorting the true ones from the false ones. I asked people like Delly and Haymitch, I watched the videos and began to reconstruct what I had lost. What I realized was there were so many beautiful memories that belonged only to us."

"In the middle of that hell?" I whispered.

"I would earn every single scar again if it brought me back to you." He said simply. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his palm slowly. The shudder this elicited trembled through both of our bodies.

He paused before continuing. "So, little by little, I came back to myself." Peeta smiled tenderly, pushing a messy curl of hair away from my wet face. "You did help me, or at least the memory of you saved me." Peeta brushed his knuckles over my cheeks.

But I would not be mollified so easily. "I left you to do that work alone. I should have watched those videos with you, tried to talk to you…" I put my head down again.

"You couldn't have, Katniss. Everytime I looked at you, I literally wanted to kill you. How would I have been convinced to listen to you? And then there was the fighting, Prim, your trial, your own breakdown," He paused with trepidation, perhaps afraid to hurt me with these things. I flinched but forced myself to be present. "We all did the best we could."

After another pause, I spoke again, my stomach roiling with nerves. "I didn't hide in my room because of your flashback."

Peeta's look became intense as he for me to complete my thought.

"Haymitch spoke to me after that incident. Peeta, I had no idea that you had these episodes. There were signs but I just didn't see them." I looked down when I said this. "I was so focused on myself that I didn't see your pain, even when it was in front of me. I felt awful, like I didn't know how to do anything else but hurt you."

"You do a lot to make me happy, you just don't see it. You just don't see yourself the way others see you." He ran his hand over my arm almost unconsciously. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I shouldn't have said what I said. I was desperate that I couldn't get to you. The worst thing you can do to me is to withdraw like that. You understand that, don't you? I know I don't have a place to demand anything from you."

At those words, I took his head in my hands and I looked very seriously at Peeta. "You do have a place to ask and I will give you whatever it is I am capable of giving. Do you understand that?"

He nodded, then smiled as he poked my nose with his finger. "Then I ask that you give Dr. Aurelius a call. We made a deal, you know."

"I know I did. I promise to do it tomorrow." I nodded slowly, as if to myself. "I want to get better." _For you_ I thought – but I didn't say it. "It won't be easy." I whispered.

"No." said Peeta. "It won't. But don't we owe it to ourselves and everyone we lost to try to live the best life we can?"

Now it was my turn to smile up at him. I looked into his eyes, so blue that the sky would go grey with envy. I reached my face up to him and before I realized what I was doing, I was kissing him tenderly. I kissed the corners of his mouth, first one side, then the other. He shifted his head until his lips were on mine and gently pressed into me. My lips gave way to the pressure and parted to allow his tongue entry. We kissed deeply, languidly, like coming home. This was a very different fire that burned in me. It pooled in the bottom of my stomach and spread throughout my body to the very end of my fingers and toes. Peeta pressed me to him while my hands swept up into his hair, pulling him down closer to me, my mouth never being able to get close enough to his. It was good that I was already seated or I would have lost my knees.

I broke off first, resting my forehead against his to quiet myself before climbing into bed so our bodies were facing each other. It took a moment to cool the fever that had grown inside of me, knowing I could not endure the hunger that would follow if I gave in. Peeta was breathless but did not protest, simply holding me tightly against him. We lay like this, our hands caressing each other gently, my hand running the length of his chest. Peeta's racing heart slowed, his breaths becoming deep and even.

After a bit, I shifted closer to Peeta. It was in this attitude – my head on his shoulder, an arm flung over his chest, his prosthetic-free stump lying between my legs while he held me in both of his arms – that we fell into possibly the first nightmare-free sleep we had experienced in months.

**If you have suggestions for improving my writing, please share them! Thank you for reading. Chapters 7 and 8 will be posted soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to TiffOdair for keeping up with me. She is the best Beta ever!**

**This was a strange chapter to write – I meant to write one thing and something different emerged. Plus, it could have been two chapters but it needed to stay together.**

**Many of you are following my story pretty consistently. You cannot imagine how grateful I am to you for your support and reviews.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Cruel Summer and Shades of Grey – by TwilightCakes; two Alternate Universe stories that place Peeta and Katniss in Camp Panem and then follows them on to college. It is so much fun to read – it's nice to see them young and silly.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or the Cheese Bun recipe either. **

**Chapter 7 – Mazes **

It was late morning when I opened my eyes. I was momentarily confused by the change in décor, the arm flung over my waist, a heavy leg pinning mine onto the bed. When it dawned on me that I was with Peeta in his room, I felt a warm, fluttery feeling spread inside my stomach, flushing my skin and causing my heart to race. I felt constrained but did not dare move for fear of waking him. I ignored the heaviness and focused on his regular breathing near me, his chest moving rhythmically against my back. I could also feel the sign of something hard and insistent pressing against my thigh. For a moment, I was shocked by it but remembered many times on the train when I felt the evidence of his nocturnal arousals. Usually, I simply shifted my body away but today I was in a state of such perfect relaxation, I chose to ignore it. I did not want the feeling of peace to end.

Several minutes passed before I felt him move behind me. His breathing became shorter and the arm that held me contracted, pulling me closer into the warmth of his broad chest. The hardness against my thigh twitched, causing a small gasp to escape my lips, a tingling rush in the deepest part of my abdomen. I was thankful he could not see my face as I was flushed with embarrassment and heat. A slight shift of his hips removed the distraction and I was able to relax again, though its imprint lingered like a brand on my thigh. A shag of blond hair fell across my cheek as he pulled his head close to mine and kissed me on my shoulder, a moan escaping his lips.

"Hey." I whispered, bringing my arm up to grasp his ear gently between my finger and forefinger, rubbing the impossibly soft skin of his lobe, tracing the hard ridge of the cartilage. It was a strange impulse that nonetheless brought me great pleasure.

Peeta moaned again in response, burying his nose in my hair.

I simply chuckled and lay with him like this for several minutes. Almost when I was certain he had fallen back to sleep, he gently turned me to face him, his hands running along my waist and hip.

"I haven't slept like that in forever." He whispered, his hands still on my waist, making distracting patterns with the tips of his fingers. I felt like a bow being strung tighter and tighter.

"Me neither." I barely responded, his fingers sending all coherent thoughts to the winds.

Peeta paused, now twirling my hair around his finger.

"We can do it again…tonight…" I stammered.

His eyes brightened. "I'd like that. I've missed sleeping with you. It made the nightmares more bearable."

"I know." I suddenly felt unbearably shy with him, an achy need befuddling my brain.

"Have you been to town yet?" Peeta asked, changing the subject.

"No." I said nervously. I'm just not up to…all of that…"

"It's okay. I wanted to walk to the station to pick up the Capitol shipment. I thought you would like to walk with me."

I felt my heart race. I would do anything for him but I didn't think I was up to the stares of people in town. "Peeta, please, I'm sorry, I just…I can't…" I buried my head in his chest.

"It's okay. I'll go this afternoon. Haymitch will keep me company. He has to restock, you know."

"So, is Haymitch the alternative to me?" I teased.

"There is no alternative to you." Peeta said seriously.

In response, I pulled him to me and placed small kisses along his jawline. It no longer embarrassed me when he said things like that to me. There was a new feeling in my chest, making it lurch, not in pain but expectation. I would never be able to say things the way Peeta did but I couldn't imagine anyone ever felt as much as I was feeling at the moment. I was a balloon ready to burst.

**XXXXX**

That very afternoon, I made good on my promise. Before Peeta left for the station, he dialed the number on the phone in his study and held the phone out to me to make sure I actually made the call. When Dr. Aurelius answered the phone, I felt the words stick. I made nothing more than a croaking sound before finally saying "Dr. Aurelius, this is Katniss Everdeen." Satisfied, Peeta discretely walked out of the study and closed the door behind him.

After what could only be described as a shocked pause, Dr. Aurelius began to speak. "Katniss! I thought I would have to travel to District 12 to speak to you again."

"Well, Peeta can be pretty persistent when he wants to be." I responded, slightly less nervous as his voice conveyed the proper concern without reprimanding.

"It was good of him to do that. Your treatments were rather unproductive when you were here."

"Yes, I vegetated and you napped." I said dryly.

Dr. Aurelius laughed. "Yes, I got much needed rest. You see, you were not ready to speak and I was certainly not going to force you. I am not in the habit of mortifying my patients. Anyway, enough about me. Give me a little context. How was your return?"

I took a deep breath and told him about my deep depression, my retreat from the world – not eating, moving or bathing for two months. Before Peeta returned to District 12, I had not called my mother, had not left my sofa. At first, I was shy about telling him these things, as if I was exposing myself to his ridicule for my terrible passivity. But being a witness to myself gave me a vague sense of power. I had gone through it all, I could do this also. I cried at times, while he soothed me, all the time taking notes and encouraging me gently when the horrible nightmares would not make it out passed my voice box. I apologized for the tears but Dr. Aurelius absolved me of my weakness, listening to whatever I offered. I told him about Peeta's flashback, my relapse into isolation. Giving voice to the strangeness of our lives freed me and though I was drained, I was a little lighter when I ran out of words and lapsed into silence.

"Katniss, I appreciate your openness. I know this cannot have been easy for you. These thoughts that take over you and send you into depression can be looked at, anticipated and waylaid so that you are not disabled by their presence. You cannot simply stop feeling sadness that your sister suffered a violent death or that you were abandoned by your mother in your direst time of need. This is not healthy. Grief must take its course and we must respect the power of that force in our lives. It is a natural consequence of love." Dr. Aurelius paused. "But grief coupled with guilt leads to self-hatred which is the root of depression – anger turned inward. This is true, whether the guilt derives from a sense of responsibility for the deaths of those we mourn or whether it is guilt because of simply surviving when others have not. Though, I should acknowledge, in yours and Peeta's case, survival was hard earned."

"With your permission, I would like to use a very old therapy, invented in the time before the Dark Days and proven to have a significantly positive impact on patients using this treatment. It is called Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy. Peeta has undergone a version of this therapy almost since his time in District 13, though his involves modifications specific to his unique condition. I will send a copy of a book that summarizes the major research and approaches to this therapy. It simply posits that depression is caused by a failure to think well and that much of this thinking is unconscious and a function of our life experiences. It can be very empowering. You have used a few of the techniques without realizing it – distracting yourself, changing your though process to shift attention away from painful thoughts, engaging in positive activity and surrounding yourself with people who are productive and positive. We will work on your thinking to create positive outcomes when such thoughts as guilt and self-hatred appear. Tell me, Katniss. What is your usual routine?"

I thought for a moment and described a typical day – having breakfast with Peeta and Greasy Sae, working on Peeta's garden, having lunch with Peeta and sometimes Haymitch, sometimes going our separate ways when he goes to town while I return to my house and putter around or nap. Then I have dinner with Peeta and Greasy Sae and then I watch a bit of TV and go to bed.

"How many of these things were things you did before your reaping?" asked Dr. Aurelius.

"We never kept a garden. My father and I foraged when we went hunting. When my father died, I did all of the hunting and foraging. I only watched TV when it was required." I paused. "Not much, actually."

"I understand you are quite the hunter and archer. Do you not miss these things?"

I pondered this. "I have gone sometimes but…"I stammered.

"Would you be avoiding hunting?" he asked.

I was absolutely avoiding hunting. I went sometimes, when Peeta asked for squirrel. It used to calm me but now it just reminds me of…

"Gale." I said quietly. "It reminds me of Gale."

"I see," the doctor paused. "Gale was your hunting partner, as I recall. Do you love hunting?"

"I do. Not just hunting – being in the woods, walking, climbing trees." I was becoming nostalgic.

"Would you say it was a major part of your identity before the reaping?"

"Yes."

"Well, Katniss, I will now assign you a bit of homework. I want you to go hunting. Be sure to take a notebook with you. Concentrate on what you are thinking and feeling. Do not try to avoid anything you are feeling. If you need to cry or shout or simply be, do so. But be very aware of your thinking so that you can document it. If you can go more than once, that would be better. I would like to speak to you again in one week to go over your notes. I will send you a journal together with the book but for now, any kind of paper or book will do. How does that sound to you? "

"Doable, "I said.

"Well, then, Katniss, until next we speak. I will await your call."

I put down the receiver and sat quietly for several minutes. My face was still puffy; my cheeks overly warm from crying. I felt drained and a sudden drowsiness overcame me. I moved as if through molasses to Peeta's sofa and promptly lay down, not trusting my legs to move up the stairs. I hardly ever said Prim's name yet today I had opened the deep caverns of my grief to the easy doctor. I vaguely remembered him as being a plain sort of gentleman, with a high forehead, eyes that were spread wide on his face, his long nose serving as perpetual perch to round wire-framed glasses. He looked to be about 50 with a receding hairline of straight, dark hair but did not show the excesses of the Capitol's obsession with body modification, instead being a type one could easily find in any place.

I thought back to the visits he paid to me after Prim's death, his chin resting on his chests, his soft snores filling the room while I sat, unseeing and unhearing. I felt my vision swim, a sweet blackness filling the edges of my mind's eye. In moments, I was releasing my own sounds of slumber into the air.

**XXXXX**

I woke to sound of Haymitch's voice hurtling through the window, a string of furious expletives frothing the air, his rage directed at the geese that had escaped the rickety fence for the umpteenth time. I lay still for a moment longer to gather my consciousness around me before carefully sitting up. I rubbed my hand over my face to rid it of the shadow of sleep. Hearing noises in the kitchen, I stood up, yawning as I walked to find Peeta unpacking a box of flour and other baking ingredients. There was a block of white cheese on the counter, still wrapped in the cheese cloth, so lovely and moist in the afternoon light. Even without wanting too, I was as quiet as a shadow. Peeta was not aware of me until I stood next to him and leaned my head on his arm. He started but then relaxed immediately when he saw me.

"Sleepyhead." He said, good-naturedly.

"Hmm, hmm." I mumbled.

"Always a woman of many words." He chuckled.

"That's me." I sighed as the last of my sleep fled and I became more alert. "Let me help you."

We unpacked his supplies and put them away in the different cupboards of his kitchen. Compared to mine, Peeta's kitchen looked like a professional operation – pots of varying utility, even a few whose purpose I did not recognize. His pantry had flour and other delicacies such as chocolate, flavored chips, tubes of coloring and gelatins. He had cake molds, muffin pans, cookie sheets, tongs and spatulas in several styles. We continued to receive our winnings as Victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, thankfully the last time there were Games for which a winner had been named, the Quarter Quell ending with the birth of the Mockingjay Revolution. It was clear how Peeta used his winnings. My only expense was Greasy Sae as I could not envision any use for that money at this point in my life.

My eyes kept returning to the cheese and I suddenly felt the emptiness in my stomach. I had eaten only once today at midday because we had woken so late and that was just a slice of yesterday's loaf with the squirrel soup Haymitch had put together for us. I reached for a knife and sliced a bit of bread, cutting a slab of the cheese and placing it on top. Bringing the treat to my lips, I tasted it and involuntarily moaned in delight at the cool, rich flavor of the cheese. I looked up and saw Peeta watching me, a small smile betraying the intensity in his eyes. Suddenly self-conscious, I swallowed the bite and asked him, "Want a piece?"

He walked over and gently took the wrist of the hand holding the bread. "Just a taste."

He brought my hand up to his mouth and bit a small piece of the bread, his eyes never leaving me. "It's good" he said around the bite, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. He seemed to squeeze my wrist briefly, the action scattering my focus.

I simply nodded. I didn't know why but I felt my chest clench, a flush racing up to the tips of the fingers that held the bread. He released my wrist and suddenly I became riveted by the way the muscles in his jaw rippled as he chewed. He turned towards the block of cheese. "Guess what I am making with this?"

I snapped out of my haze and responded, perhaps too harshly, "What?"

"Well, you _did_ catch squirrel…"

I started with excitement, repressing the urge to clap my hands like a child. "Cheese buns?"

"A deal's a deal. Want to help me?"

"Yes! Will you use all the cheese?" I asked slyly. I could put that cheese on everything.

Knowingly, he responded "I'll set some aside for you."

"Okay." With my life experience, I never underestimated the value of food of any kind and good food less so.

Peeta began working and I tried to help him, fetching things as he asked for them. Most of the time, though, I stayed out of his way as he made magic happen. I could cook, mostly preparing game or greens and vegetables into stews – poor food that I had to stretch, less concerned with taste than with sustenance. But watching Peeta create the dough, pouring in the flour and sugar slowly into the bowl, and carefully adding the mixture of warm water and yeast was to feel my inferiority. I set the oven to pre-heat and chunked the cheese, allowing the salty moisture to run along the grooves of the cutting board, sneaking a taste when I was sure he was not looking. His large hands rounded over the dough, as he plunged his thick fingers into the tender yet pliant mass. I became enthralled by the motion of his hands as he worked the quivering dough, folding it over, pressing down firmly enough to coax the desired mold without crushing it. His forearms rippled as he pressed down over and over, the dough bulging upwards on each side of his hands, rolling it into itself and working it again until he had brought it to the shape that he wanted. When he had caressed the shape of a smooth round ball out of the once disparate collection of wet and dry ingredients, pinching the top of it to a rigid point, he placed the mass tenderly into the bowl and covered it with a cloth to let it rest near the stove. He turned the timer on for 30 minutes to let the dough rise properly.

I had the brief flash that it was me he was working in that way and felt my knees buckle.

"I hope there is enough cheese left for the dough." He teased, wiping his hands on his apron.

I was swallowed hard. "I left most of it." I said sheepishly, still a bit delirious over the dough. What was wrong with me?

"Don't worry, I ordered extra cheese." He smiled. "We have to wait for the dough to rise." He paused for a moment as if considering his question. "How was your call to Dr. Aurelius?"

This sobered me right away. I considered for a moment. I had shared everything that I could with him. It had been a dense conversation so I focused on the outcome. "It went better than I thought it would. I am going hunting tomorrow."

Peeta seemed puzzled. "How are those two things related?"

"Dr. Aurelius wants me to try to do the things I used to love before the reaping. So I've been assigned to go hunting for homework."

"Don't you still love hunting?" Peeta's brows were furrowed with confusion.

How to explain this to him? That outside the time I spent with him, not much had any meaning? Some things like going to town were too much for my nerves and others, like hunting, were just too painful.

"Not everything makes me as happy as it used to, Peeta. I think that is what Dr. Aurelius is trying to get me back to. I feel like some days, it is not even worth it to get out of bed. It all seems meaningless sometimes." My voice trailed off at the end.

Peeta's face was sad at my words. He pulled me into a hug and we held onto each other for a long moment. He spoke into my hair. "I usually feel like that after a flashback. I'm empty, like I will never be happy again. When this happens, I just think something better is always waiting for me, you know? When I think of my parents, my brothers, I imagine something has to come out of all this pain. There has to be a meaning if only it's the meaning I give it."

I hug him close to me, overwhelmed with admiration, hope, and melancholy, all wrapped together in a cacophony of feelings. "This," I squeeze him for emphasis, "has meaning for me. You make me want to be whole." I whispered against his chest.

He pulled back only just, tilting my chin up to look him. His eyes were glassy, the look he gets when he is moved by something. I knew what would come next and my breath hitched in my throat. He ran his thumb over my lips, first across, then down, just lingering over my bottom lip, as if testing it. His face closed the distance between us and his mouth brushed mine gently. My lips opened slightly and he pulled my upper lip gently between his, his tongue darting out to taste me and run along the top. The touch was delicate but the sensation of his tongue made a bolt of electricity shoot through me. He did the same with my bottom lip, trapping it gently between his teeth before tugging it. My tongue darted out to meet his and soon our lips were together, our tongues moving with each other. His lips were so unbearably warm, the taste of his mouth made mine water with the desire for more. I had kissed Peeta a thousand times during the Victory Tour but there were a few kisses that stood out as our own – the cave, the beach, last night and this delicious dance that we danced here, in his kitchen. These kisses belonged entirely to us and they were made sacred by the things we created together, whether it was an alliance for life and death or simply baking together. When the timer for the dough went off, my lips were swollen from kissing him, and yet I was hardly sated.

Peeta's eyes smoldered, his hand running along my cheek. He placed a peck on my nose and let me go. Breathing deeply, he directed his attention to dividing the dough into balls, showing me how he stuffed the dough with cheese. I was still shaky from our shared kiss but the work slowly had a calming effect on me. We spread them over a baking sheet, brushing them with a mixture of oil, garlic and fresh parsley from the garden before putting them in the oven. As they baked, we cleaned the kitchen, conversing lightly about the salads and greens that were ready to be picked. Peeta had already studied a system for preserving the vegetables for the winter. He had a strainer with the arugula that he had already rinsed. I was fascinated by the leaves, the deep green color and the veins that ended in pointy tips.

We set the table together. In addition to the cheese buns and salad was yesterday's stew. I would never learn to throw away good food. As I set the last of the glasses, Peeta prepared a generous portion for Haymitch and took it to him. When he returned, I was already seated with half of a cheese bun already in my mouth. He looked in askance at the bread. I just shrugged, finding it remarkable that he could leave a plate full of the wonderful things and not expect them to become my victims.

There was nothing on the table that I did not like. Haymitch prepared a more than respectable squirrel stew. The cheese buns would not last through the night, of that I was sure. But the arugula was something so special I thought I would not leave any for Peeta.

"This is amazing." I said between mouthfuls.

"It's bitter but the lemon and salt compliment the flavor" said Peeta, savoring the crispy green.

When our meal ended, I was so full that I thought my belly would pop. I was so grateful for the cheese buns but also for the wherewithal Peeta had to find this occupation or any for that matter while he was undergoing treatment in the Capitol. It was another testament to his resilience and without giving him any explanation I surprised him with a long kiss on the lips. Peeta seemed to glow from the spontaneous affection.

After cleaning the kitchen, I had an urge to get outside. Hand in hand, we decided to walk as far as the tree-line of the woods and around the green. I had a thought that stopped me suddenly.

"Peeta, we should add your plants to our family's plant book. We haven't added anything to it in a long time." It made perfect sense to me.

Peeta looked at me and smiled. "That's true. Where do you have it?"

"In my study."

"We should work on it right away. Once the cold weather arrives and the garden is picked, it will be hard to find models for the drawings."

The thought of the weather made me realize that it had already been five months since Peeta's return to District 12, seven months since I returned, and almost a year since Prim died.

I couldn't believe time had raced away so quickly. This also meant…

"Peeta." I whispered. "The Reaping. When is it?"

He looked at me warily. "Midsummer will be here in two weeks…" his voice trailed off.

I covered my mouth with my hand. I shivered with the thought of it, even though it would not be the same as other years. There was no Reaping per se anymore but the date stood like an ugly sore in the middle of our summer and even if nothing happened on that day, it was the day _everything_ had happened. The day we lost Gale, Prim, Peeta's family, District 12, ourselves. It was the day the world had started to burn. Peeta must have understood my agitation, his hand twitching in mine. The urge to run back to my room was so strong I shook with the effort to stay in this spot. I squeezed Peeta's hand, as much to steady him as myself.

"Peeta, that day will never be good for us."

Peeta's vision became unfocused and turned in the direction of the town center. I saw the shadows of his family pass over his face, his childhood, untold memories that he had never had a chance to share with me, that perhaps he no longer owned himself. Remembering what we had lost was a crippling ache in his heart as much as my own. I wrapped my arm around his waist, feeling him droop onto my shoulder, a tremor announcing his grief to those who had the eyes to see.

Night had fallen by the time we made it back to his house. Quietly, we washed up and readied ourselves for bed but I was the hunter now, watching a prey who did not understand he was being watched. I watched his fingers twitch as he removed his prosthetic, how he compulsively ran his hands through his hair, eyes fixated on different points in space though there was nothing of consequence to look at. I pulled him down to lay next to me, cradling his head on my shoulder. When his shivering became more pronounced, I kissed him fully in the mouth, willing him to stay with me. He responded with uneven ferocity, at moments taking my mouth with bruising force, the next moment passive and unsure of himself. His shaking slowed and he whimpered into my mouth.

That night, there was no stopping them – the voices of the dead screeching in rage at the accident of our survival, clawing at us through the night. I watched Peeta with a helpless desperation, slowly losing his battle with himself. I sat up to look into his eyes and watched the blue irises being swallowed up by the unnaturally dilated pupils, the boy with the bread sinking deeper and deeper away from me until the only thing I held in my arms was a trembling mass of grief and madness. He began to mumble things I would never understand, hitting the sides of his head with his fists. I seemed to feel the blows as if I were receiving each one. He sat at the edge of his bed, shaking and rocking and I sat myself behind him, my knees on either side of him, hugging him hard, holding his hands down, and murmuring into his ear, telling him of all the beautiful things he represented to me – my tether to life, the shocking indestructability of his goodness.

And a whisper that I was too cowardly to give voice to, even to myself, in our waking lives – that I loved him, had loved him before I knew that I loved him. I sang to him the songs of love that my father offered to my mother in the days when the world inside our tiny home made sense. I sang to him the songs my father sung to me in the intimate solitude of our woods. He would not recall these things, though one day, he would surely hear them, as sure as I lived. But tonight, these words were for my lost boy so that he, too, would find the skein that would lead him through his darkness and back to the surface again.

When he finally stilled, I lay him down, wiping the moisture of sweat and tears from his face with a wet cloth. He tried to speak to me, surely to apologize but I kissed him again, deeply, my hands hold each side of his face. I cradled myself in the space next to him as his exhaustion made him limp, clinging to him in a surreal state of wakeful sleep, complete with the specters of death and blood. It was not until light broke over the top of the trees that I fell into a fitful, defeated sleep.

**I want to thank the reviewer, n, for giving me the feedback that lead to the end of this chapter. **

**Thank you all for reviewing, especially Guest Reviewers, since I cannot respond to you directly. **

**PS: There are several clues in Mockingjay that helped with the timeline Katniss mentions above. I am fascinated with the idea that the Reaping took place every year during the Summer Solstice (Midsummer – June 21st). If you are interested, message me and I will share what I think is the timeline for the third book.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Super shout out to TiffOdair for being on her Beta game.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: The Education of Peeta Mellark by atetheredmind. Another AU fanfic, I can't even describe how hot it is. By the way – all of my recs with very few exceptions are M so…**

**Chapter 8 – The Lake**

I did not stay asleep for long. After an hour I became restless and decided to stop fighting it and simply get out of bed. Peeta faced away from me but from the rise and fall of his back, I could tell he was finally asleep after the hellish night he had had. I carefully slipped out from between the covers so as not to disturb him, dressing as quietly as possible, almost slipping out of the room before considering what it might look like to Peeta if, after last night, he did not find me in the morning. I took a pencil and a piece of paper from the sketchbook on his bureau and scribbled a note to him: "Didn't want to wake you. I'll be right back. – K". I left it on the end table in clear view with his name on it.

As I walked back to my house, I was still shaken. I had not seen Peeta in a full-blown flashback since the siege of the Capitol. Then, he was a raging murderous machine, bent on only one objective – destroying me. Last night was another manifestation that was possibly worse – defeated, insane Peeta, hurting himself, unreachable by any means. It unnerved me to see him reduced in that way. I realized that what I witnessed the day I went hunting was nothing compared to last night. A profound sadness fell over me at my inability to make it easier for him, to make the evil go away. This was followed by anger that he should yet again be the subject of so much pain. I couldn't accept that there was nothing I could do.

Without giving thought to my impulse, I went directly to my study where the telephone was located and dialed Dr. Aurelius' number. It was clear when he answered that he was still sleeping.

"This is Katniss Everdeen." I barked into the phone.

"Katniss, what a surprise – return from hunting already?" Dr. Aurelius quipped.

"How do I help him?" I blurted out, without antecedent.

The doctor seemed to become more alert as the sleepiness fell away. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Katniss. At 6 o'clock in the morning, I am less astute than usual."

"Peeta. How do I help him? I just saw him go into a flashback from beginning to end. I was up half the night and I didn't know what to do. He just talked and hit himself…" I rambled on.

"Calm down, Katniss. Give me all of the details."

I proceeded to tell him of our walk after dinner, his reaction to being reminded of the Reaping, his struggle to fight off the terrors, his descent into madness, the self-immolation, my efforts to reach him. I could hear Dr. Aurelius scribble into a note pad as I spoke. It was annoying but necessary so I quelled my impatience.

"So you are sleeping together?"

I was taken aback. "What? Why do you care?"

"I'm just looking for context, Katniss. It is not a judgment, nor an invasion to which your previous fame has accustomed you. Technically, I should not be discussing Peeta's treatment with you nor yours with him without explicit consent from the other."

I became impatient with him. "Look Doctor, we are a package deal. You help me, that helps Peeta. You help Peeta, that helps me. Remember, Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12?" I practically sneered at the moniker.

"I thought that wasn't real." said the Doctor kindly.

I deflated. "I didn't think so either. Funny how life is."

"Loving a person and particularly the physical expression of that love is not something to be ashamed of. It is a need that, when denied, only leads to unnecessary suffering." I pondered his words as he continued. "I'm going to clarify a few things first and then I will address your question. First, I am sending a supply for birth control."

"I didn't call for that! We are Not. Having. Sex." I screamed.

"No, but you are young, alone and clearly in love. It is a matter of time and truthfully, would you be able to care for a child in both of your conditions?" My silence was also my assent. "It is just a precaution. It has the additional advantage of regulating your menstruation and taming hormonal imbalances that may lead to emotional outbursts."

"Are you insinuating that I am unstable?"

"I would never insinuate such a thing." He said with a chuckle in a way that meant it was _exactly_ what he was trying to say. The only reason I did not slam the phone down was because my desire to help Peeta was overwhelming my desire to insult the man back to his bed.

"Second – how long did this episode last?"

I thought for a moment. It was hard to know, as I lost track of time. "It was slow. It looked like he was struggling with himself for a few hours before falling into a full-blown flashback. I could tell it started around 9. He was gone by midnight." I took a shaky breath as my hand vaguely swept the air. That is exactly how it was. He faded away and I didn't know if he was coming back. I held my head in my hands, begging myself please, please, please don't cry. "He seemed to return to himself after about an hour and a half but I can't be sure. He was so wiped out afterwards and he slept but I couldn't stop watching him. I just kept expecting him to disappear again. I couldn't fall asleep. It was awful." I slumped in my chair, the tears started to well up and slide down my cheeks.

"It's alright, Katniss. I can imagine how frightening this experience has been for both of you. As for the time, it is consistent with episodes from the past. The onset can take a bit of time. Peeta likely uses his techniques to try to mitigate it but there are times those techniques do not work. In any case, the actual flashback itself seems to have been shorter. There were flashbacks upon his return to District 12 that have lasted 3 to 4 hours, according to my anecdotal records." He was flipping through pages as he spoke.

"Four _hours!"_ I was going to be physically ill.

"Yes, they can be quite intense. They wax and wane so the intensity is not constant over time but they can linger. In District 13, it was reported that he could be in a lost state for days. It was apparently quite dramatic."

I had a momentary fantasy of Snow coming back to life again just to have the pleasure of slowly skinning him alive, starting with his grotesque, puffy lips. I shook my head. "What can I do for him?"

"Well, you mentioned his hitting himself. This is actually a coping mechanism, not the most efficient one, to say the least but one nonetheless. He requires an access point to the reality he is losing. He achieves this by causing himself pain. Therefore, being sure to provide him some outlet of this sort is crucial in reducing the effects of the flashback, though preferably without causing him harm."

"So in plain language, what should I do? Hit him? What are you saying?" His jargon was seriously wearing down my nerves.

Dr. Aurelius laughed. _Go ahead, I snarled in my head. I'd skin you next._ "You said you held his arms down. This is good, but you must replace the stimulation as this particular deprivation will actually accelerate his visions. You did not want him to hurt himself but he requires some other tactile input."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what the hell did you just say!?" I screamed again. I was so done here.

"Touch him. A lot. Hold onto him. Do whatever is comfortable for you - unless, of course he is trying to hurt you, which could very well occur. I understand your mentor, Haymitch, has occasionally had to fight him off." This chilled me. Could he attack me again? "However, your speaking and singing may have had the most beneficial effect. He can still somewhat hear, and recall, what has been said."

I stiffened at this. I was reckless with my feelings towards him, sure that he would not recall the words. Now it is possible that everything would be in his memory. I deflated again, my anger towards the Doctor now gone. "I thought he might not remember what I said." I whispered.

Dr. Aurelius paused a moment. "It was my experience with him in the Capitol that this can be uneven. It depends how far gone he was. He is the only one who can provide the best confirmation of this."

I fell into a thoughtful silence. I don't know how he did it but Dr. Aurelius seemed to read my mind. "I suspect that whatever you did or said at the moment will never be construed as an extravagance on Peeta's part. A wise philosopher once said 'Of all forms of caution, _caution in love_ is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness. '"

I became frustrated, but only superficially so. "Why do you automatically assume it has something to do with love? I thought you were a psychiatrist, not a matchmaker."

"Psychiatry is the study of what makes people function and love – or lack of it – is at the root of almost every human motivation. As for you, Katniss, you have overcome poverty, abandonment, survived a totalitarian dictatorship, a revolution, the destruction of most of the things you cherished. It seems to me that one like you would have one conquest remaining – the one to convince yourself of the perfect rationality of your worthiness to love and be loved in return. Between you and I, Peeta is the more fortunate one of the lot of you. Your friend Haymitch has not figured out a way past this challenge either. I have higher expectations for your eventual success."

I had nothing to say to that, flippant or otherwise.

"Keep doing what you are doing, Katniss. Peeta has been much more reasonable about his therapy and has spoken to me at length of the changes of recent months. I have seen positive improvements. But you must also care for yourself. When will you be off in the forest to reclaim your place in the wild?" His voice seemed to carry the color of a smile when he said this.

"I can't see today being about me, Doctor." I sniffed.

"Well then, at least once before you call me again - doctor's orders. Now, if you will excuse me, my long-suffering wife is waiting for me to rejoin her. Call me at any time of the day or night if you require my support."

The idea of the doctor having a wife waiting for him softened me towards him significantly. "I'm sorry I woke both of you."

"She is quite accustomed to it. I am very fortunate in this case to have such a patient companion."

"Well, I appreciate it, I really do."

"I know you do. Have a good day, Katniss." The phone clicked at the other end, announcing the end of the connection.

I spread my hands in front of me, watching them as they slid through the air. I was so physically tired and my head wanted to burst. These last few months had been so intense. I looked out forlornly at the woods. How many times would I have retreated to them in this period? And why was I not there now, again? I got up slowly and walked upstairs to shower and change. I looked in my closet – Greasy Sae had been diligent about keeping up my clothing. I pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in deference to the heat. As I did so, I caught sight of a lovely white sundress with a soft orange pattern of ribbons stitched into the material – so pretty and light, it reminded me of the strings on a kite. The color reminded me of Peeta. It had an orange strap that crossed in the back and the trim around the waist and hem were also of the same warm orange. I laid the dress on the bed and pulled out another dress and before I realized what I was doing, I had a duffle bag and was filling it with clothes – hunting pants, t-shirts, socks, underwear, pajamas, more dresses. Even a pair of white sandals – in the heat, they would be indispensable. I took my favorite soap, my burn cream, deodorant and, hesitating a moment, I grabbed an unused jar of a delicious smelling body butter and stuffed that into my bag also. I ran downstairs, impatient now, and gently placed my book of plants, my mother and father's wedding photo, and the locket in the bag. I slung my bow and arrow over my shoulder and my father's jacket through the handles of my bag and walked out of my house, locking the door behind me.

It was a glorious summer morning, the sky a cloudless blue. I walked resolutely to Peeta's house with my things, not seeing Haymitch tottering on his porch until it was too late. He had certainly been up all night – he always was – and was probably just getting ready to sleep. He hated sleeping at night, the gift of trauma courtesy of the Games. I felt pity burst in my chest for him before I felt the embarrassment of what I must look like to him, unable to hide by any means what the bag meant and where I was going.

"Well, that's definitely a strategy, sweetheart. Going to shack up with the boy, are you?" he laughed hazily, having had his fill of alcohol and ready to keel over for several hours.

"Bite me." I said simply, more out of a habitual compulsion to be rude to him than real irritation. Remembering the doctor's comments, I followed with "I'll come see you when you wake up. I have to talk to you." I walked off.

"Wow, great talking to you, too!" he slurred, letting out another cackle of laughter before stumbling back inside, no doubt to crawl to his sofa and go to sleep.

I entered the house, careful not to make any noise. I snuck up the stairs and peeked into the bedroom. He was still fast asleep, his blond hair sticking up all over his head. I had to resist the urge to tug them back into place. Walking carefully downstairs, I closed the kitchen door firmly and set a tea pot to boil. I cut a slice of sour dough loaf wrapped in cloth in the bread box and put it on a pan to toast. Setting the butter on the counter to soften, I looked for the jar of honey and set it out too. My mind was racing and I did not trust myself to cook anything more substantial. Once my tea and toast were ready, I sat at the table and took a long drag of the black liquid, sweetened with a bit of honey since I was too wound up to search out the sugar. I couldn't get Peeta out of my mind or what the doctor said about his treatment. How does someone enter a nightmare state for days? And how did you stay intact? My intuition of Peeta's fortitude was magnified a thousand times.

And what if he remembered my words? Was it really that bad? I had barely survived the loss of Prim, what would I do if something happened to Peeta? I was not trite with my feelings. Letting him understand how essential he had become to my existence would seal the deal for me – I wouldn't ever going anywhere ever again. However, if I was truthful with myself, telling him that I loved him was just a formality for the fact that I already did. Here, too, I was already defeated.

As I chewed my food, I looked outside the window and marveled at the incredible day that we would have. There was no hint of moisture – the heat would be steady and the sun bright. I could imagine the trees moving above my head, the coolness of the shade welcoming me in from the heat. I longed for that sacred place that always healed me. And I desired, more than anything else at that moment, to give something beautiful to Peeta. I wanted to rid his mind of the horrors of the last night, the horrors of his entire life. I looked up again and it suddenly came to me. I smiled at the thought of it. Jumping up, I began searching the cupboards for everything I would need. I went quietly out into the garden and dug up the amazing arugula, pulled carrots and celery out of the ground and brought everything inside, washing the earth off of them. I took a chunk of my precious cheese and a piece of dried meat from the pantry and wrapped them, leaving them in the refrigerator until it was time to leave. I searched the cabinets until I found two flasks that would do, filling it with water and slicing a whole lemon into the water. I sliced another lemon and tomatoes, putting them in a container and leaving them to cool also.

Finding a line that would be adequate for fishing took a bit longer but even here, Peeta's kitchen did not fail me. I found a lovely bit of cooking twine used for baking that I thought would tie well and be sturdy enough for a net. While I would be sure to dig up worms near the bank, I took a roll of older bread to fish carp if no other fish was available.

My last step was to stuff paper and a pencil in my bag. After waking him up at the crack of dawn, I decided I should at least do my homework for Dr. Aurelius.

After my preparations, I set up a second teacup with tea leaves in the strainer. The honey and butter still sat out. I shuffled around the kitchen collecting a table cloth, cloth napkins, wooden bowls and a paring knife. Just as I was beginning to get restless with excitement, I heard the thump upstairs announcing Peeta. He was trying to put on his prosthetic and positioning it was a noisy proposition. I quickly poured the hot water in the cup and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, careful to not spill any of it. As I entered the room, Peeta was returning from the restroom, seating himself at the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his face. He looked up at me and the smile he gave me was strained and embarrassed.

_Oh no, not that, don't ever be ashamed –_ I thought furiously.

I set the teacup and saucer on the end table and stood in front of him. He looked up at me as if measuring my reaction. I couldn't stand the hesitation, the fear. I hugged him to me, pulling his head to rest on my chest. His arms wound hesitantly about my waist, holding me, first gently, then as if for life. I let him hold me as long as he desired. I threaded my hands through his hair. He seemed to be breathing me in deeply, his nose pressed into the space between the bones of my ribcage.

After another moment, I pulled back to look at him. "How do you feel?"

He shook his head. "I feel like a hover craft fell on me."

I chuckled. "You were a little hard on yourself last night." I tried to be light – I did not want to let the evil back in.

"Thank you." He whispered.

I nodded and kissed his forehead, letting my fingers run over his face. After a pause, I said "Peeta, I want to take you somewhere today."

Peeta looked up at me, puzzle but smiling. "Ok, but there aren't a lot of places to go in District 12."

"Not in District 12 but in the surrounding area. There is a lake I want to show you. I have everything ready downstairs. I'll teach you how to fish. Are you up to it?"

"Are you sure? I feel like I would be invading your space."

I understood his trepidation. Going into the woods was something I had always done together with Gale. It was our bond like fighting in the Arenas had been my bond with Peeta. But now everything was different. There was nowhere else where I could regain my sanity than in those woods. I had been staying away too long, wrapped up in my grief over Gale, all the while cutting out one of the most essential aspects of my identity. It was the one of the few things that life had given me and Gale had once been a part of that, a part I would have to figure out a way to preserve. Peeta was not an alternative to that, but something more, a part of my life that was also essential to everything I was. It diminished who I was to keep it all separate.

"Peeta, I know what you think – that this is Gale and Katniss territory." I stammered. "And it was, at one time. But before that, the woods were a place I went to with my father. It's where I learned to be who I am. My father told me that I was named after the Katniss root – "Katniss, as long as you can find yourself, you will never starve." Do you know where those roots grow?" Peeta was so enthralled by my speech that it took him a moment to realize I was asking him a direct question. He simply shook his head. "They grow near water. There is a lake where I used to always go with my father – even Gale has never been there – that's where this root grows. After my father died, I always went alone. It healed me because he is there. I'm there." I paused, not sure if it made sense. "I have never had a lot of beautiful things in my life." I put my hand on his cheek. "The lake is one of them and I want you with me. I feel my father there and I am sure he would know what to do with the two of us." I smiled sadly at him when I thought he would never know my father in that way. "But only if you are up to it."

Peeta looked at me like something would burst, speechless as he had been left. He simply pulled me down onto his lap and kissed me furiously, not waiting for me to give him entrance but pushing his way into my mouth. His hand grasped me at the nape of my neck and held me in place for, leaving my head spinning when we came up for air. "Okay." was all he seemed to trust himself to say.

**XXXXX**

The sun was warm on our backs, though it was still mid-morning. Walking down the path to the entrance of the woods, I took his hand and did not let go even when the ground became uneven. I was sure to walk carefully, taking into consideration his prosthetic and the possibility that the flashback might have left him weaker than usual. The route to the lake lay just south of Victor's Village. It took about forty minutes over hilly terrain and I took care to make sure I took Peeta over the surest possible path. I tried not to make a big deal out of it, as I knew it would irritate him if he thought I was fussing too much about his leg.

Soon the tall grasses appeared, announcing the sloping bank of wet earth. I veered to the right and lead Peeta to a rock overlooking the water. At the seam of the rock, there were several large trees that provided shade most of the day, underneath which was a green that was perfect for resting. But the majority of the rock was exposed to the sun and was the place my father and I lay to dry after swimming in the lake. Looking out, the lake water was a lovely clear color. The lake was actually fed by the mountains to the north and was part of a river system whose water veered southeast of their location. Though the water was still, there were currents in the deepest parts that kept the water fresh and moving throughout the year, even when the lake was frozen in winter.

I laid the blanket out and set the backpack on it. I promptly pulled out the containers of water and gave one to Peeta, whose light skin was flushed with the sun and the exertion of the hike, giving him a rugged look. We sat down on the blanket together to catch our breaths. He reached out and took my hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. "It is so beautiful here. How did you father find it?" he asked, all the while rubbing my hand with his thumb.

"My grandfather showed him this spot, as did his mother before him. They were hunters from before the Dark Days and they passed down their skills down parent to child. I took to hunting from the first time I could hold a bow and arrow. Prim was more inclined to be like mom and showed a gift for healing from very young. She couldn't bear to kill an animal, though she was very good at foraging. I was different in that way. More like my father."

Peeta lay on his side and just watched me as I spoke. I felt shy with his eyes on me, so unaccustomed to the constant attention.

"So your mom never hunted?" He probed.

"I don't think Dad even tried to teach her. It just wasn't mom's calling. She was a bit delicate for the whole thing."

"Do you miss your mom?" he asked gently.

"Peeta, I've spent half of my life missing her. I don't think I have another default." I said with some wryness.

Peeta sighed. "I miss my family every second of every day, until some days it is the only thing I think about."

I put my hand on his cheek and caressed it, reaching the lobe of his ear and rubbing the cartilage.

Peeta laughed at the touch. "Why do you do that? I mean, I like the feeling but I don't think I've ever seen anyone do that in my life."

"Do what, you mean rub your ear?" I smiled. "My mother told me that when I was just a baby, the only way I could fall asleep was to hold onto her ear. Poor mom, she said she always had a backache because of me. Ever since then, I have only ever done it to Prim. I love the feeling – it's my oldest memory, I suppose."

"You were a pest even in the crib." He smiled at the thought.

"Again, that would be me." I smiled at the phrase.

We lapsed into silence. I wanted to toss a net into the water and test my luck. The idea of fresh fish for dinner made my mouth water. But sitting like this, talking to him was the most perfect kind of contentment that I was loathe to move for fear of losing it.

"What is town like?" I asked after a moment.

Peeta took a deep breath. I cursed my own stupidity. Of course he avoided the town. Weren't his family's ashes scattered all over the center of town?

"I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." I said quickly.

"No, no. Of course you're curious. I only go when there are District shipments. I don't go too much further, you can imagine why. The town is being rebuilt. There are District 12 crews but also a ton of people from other districts that could spare the manpower, like Districts 8 and 10. They are here on a semi-volunteer basis. And there are a ton of Capitol residents."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes. Many volunteered after the fall of the Capitol. I think they feel guilty and wanted to be part of rebuilding the home of the Revolution."

"So what color are they?"

"No color. Capitol residents removed their decorations after the fall of the Capitol, sort of as a sign of unity. It's not fashionable to be tacky anymore. It's a relief because I don't think I could take any purple people working near the station. I'd have had a flashback or something."

"Peeta, don't joke about that!" I smirked involuntarily.

Peeta sat up so that we were very close together, changing tack altogether. "When I woke up and didn't find you next to me, I thought I'd run you off for good. Then you walked in the room with the tea, I thought 'there is no way she is still here.' " He looked down at the blanket a moment. "I could hurt you, you know."

I put my hand under his chin to look at me. I didn't want to lose this day to fear and embarrassment. "You could try."

Peeta was taken aback. "And what does that mean?"

"I did survive two Hunger Games, you know. And I'm the Mockingjay. Fat chance trying to take me down." I smiled at him.

"I'm a Victor, too, remember? Same games? And I'm stronger than you." He laughed.

"Well, next time it comes up, we'll see." I quipped.

Peeta became very serious. "Katniss, it's not funny. I almost killed you."

"I know it's not funny but I don't want to talk about this anymore. I know you can lash out when you are in that way. I get it. I can take care of myself. I'm not staying away from you because of that."

Peeta looked at me with something akin to awe and brought my knuckles up to kiss them. I had to breathe deeply to still my pounding in my chest.

"Now, stop trying to put off the inevitable. Today you fish."

**XXXXX**

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the lake. We ate our lunch, then relaxed as I taught Peeta how to fashion a net and bait it. Peeta was an eager learner and I found him to be gentle company. We conversed easily but he was not in need of constant conversation. The four fish we caught represented a respectable day's work. We would have a feast that evening. I tied them in the net and left them in the water to keep them fresh. He was very proud of himself and I smiled at his pride.

While the fish were leaping in captivity, I spotted the white flower and green tuber of the plant after which I was named. I promptly removed my boots and socks and let my toes sink into the cool mud as I waded out into the water. Peeta watched me as I dug up the root and brought it back to where he was. It was not a particularly attractive root, bluish and swollen from the water. I smiled at the analogy. "It's a little like me – plain but it will do the job."

"It depends how you look at it." Peeta said, running his hand over the blue vein on the leaf. "Here you have this beautiful flower growing at the edge of the water, easy to overlook except that when you finally do see it, you can't take your eyes off of it, it's that gorgeous." He skimmed the stem with his fingertips. "And when you dig, at first you do find some bluish, cranky, bad-tempered, scowling muck that could turn you off," his eyes danced while I swatted at him, "but that flower has something so substantial inside that it could feed a person for life."

I put my head on his shoulder. "How do you do that? How do you make poetry out of the most ordinary things?" I asked.

He shrugged and said nothing more. I waded back into the water and dug up several more to eat with the fish.

I began to feel the effects of last night's sleeplessness towards mid-afternoon. The drowsiness was such that, without a word, I undid my braid and lay my head on Peeta's lap. He began to run his hands through my hair, carefully removing the knots that formed during our walk to the lake. It was so relaxing, I did not realize I was asleep until after a time I found myself blinking, looking around at the way the light had changed in the trees. I was no longer on Peeta's lap, my head resting on the backpack. Peeta sat next to me, sketchbook and pencil in hand, working diligently on a drawing. I reached my hand out to touch his elbow, pulling his attention away from his work.

"How long was I asleep?" I mumbled.

"More than an hour." He said.

"I'm sorry." I stretched as I said this, feeling like a much better looking version of Buttercup.

"_I'm_ sorry. I'm the one who kept you up last night." Peeta responded.

Not wishing to revisit that, I said instead "What are you drawing?"

He passed the sketchbook to me. There I was, lying on the blanket asleep. My hair was spread out like a fan around my head, my hand up near my face. The trees above me cast shadows on my sleeping form. He had drawn my shorts and tank top in detail, the patterns of light seeming to dance on my exposed legs. What startled me the most was the absolute absence of a scowl on the face of the sleeping girl. She looked so young and innocent, as if there had never been any Games or dying children. The drawing gave me a pang of loss for something I never had.

My face must have been transparent because Peeta became concerned. "What is it? Don't you like it?"

"Peeta, I love it. It's just, I wonder – do I really look like that to you?"

"Like what? I draw what I see. You are beautiful to me." He said simply.

I wanted to live in the place he lived, where I could look like that to him every day.

"Come here." I said.

When he came close, I pulled him down onto me and kissed him. He returned the kiss with fervor, gathering me to him, running his hands over the length of me, setting my skin on fire. My entire body began to hum beneath him. Pausing, Peeta whispered his gratitude into my ear, for the lake, the afternoon, for not giving up on him. In response, I arched against him and slipped my hand under the collar of his t-shirt so there was nothing between my hands and his skin. I let my head fall back to invite him to kiss my neck and his tongue raced over the feverish skin. We kissed each other hungrily until it was impossible to remain any later without night catching us. We separated reluctantly, disheveled and burning, an invisible string connecting each other, making one aware of every fiber of the other person's being.

We packed up our things and, alight with something more than fire, hiked back to our house in the village.

**Hmmmm…**

**I'm still feeding off of "n's" review, which is the reason for the direction of Chapter 7 and 8. I appreciate the specific feedback.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry I've taken some time to update. It's been a bit hectic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Hunger Games.**

**HG FanFic Rec: Five Words Peeta Only Says at Night by aimmyarrowshigh. It's a one shot but it captures something fundamental about Katniss and Peeta's respective characters.**

**I wanted to give a sincere thank you for being so generous in your reviews. Taking time out of your busy lives to give me feedback is incredibly humbling and I appreciate it very much. It's never too much!**

**Chapter 9 – Book of Memories**

Peeta and I didn't end up having the fish until the next day. We were so exhausted from our excursion we were barely able to organize ourselves and shower before collapsing into bed. Sleep stole over me so deeply, I was sure I would have a dreamless night. So when I woke with my screams still in my ears, thrashing about in Peeta's arms, I knew that there was not yet enough sunshine in the world to keep my terrors at bay. I had to accept that I would have to live despite them. I held onto Peeta until my breathing subsided and could fall back into a fitful sleep.

Nightmares notwithstanding, the days passed peacefully. Peeta brought my bag of clothes up to the room and placed it next to the bed. Without quite looking me in the eye, he cleared out several drawers from the tall bureau, then went into his walk-in closet, obnoxiously large like mine, and shoved an entire section of clothes to the back, lifting some items that would not fit well and moving them to the other side. He walked heavily to the bathroom and emptied the medicine cabinet and the sink closest to the door, shoving all of his things under the second sink without so much as organizing them, which was highly unusual for him as he was one of the most organized persons I had ever known. When he had completed that task, he walked over and gave me a long, lingering kiss and then hugged me for good measure. I knew he was happy but would not overwhelm me with it. Without saying another word, he turned and left me to put my things in place.

The Capitol shipment arrived. When Peeta went to the station to pick up his supplies, I was surprised to see he had to hire a mini-truck to bring it back. There was an additional large box to the one he usually received filled with mason jars. He was preparing the materials to preserve some of the vegetables from the garden. He was generous with Greasy Sae and made sure to always share what he made with Haymitch. He kept us well supplied with bread and other baked goods. I caught him more than once looking forlornly towards the town center and wondered to myself how much longer he would be able to resist before taking that long, terrible walk to his parent's bakery.

Peeta handed me a package addressed to me from Dr. Aurelius. I could tell he was curious as I never ordered anything from the Capitol. I was mortified at having to tell him what exactly was inside the box so I was truthful about the journal and made a sufficiently vague reference to certain female medical supplies to not be completely dishonest. This seemed to satisfy him. I ran up to the bedroom and tore into the package. Inside was a large, beautiful, leather bound book, not like the covers used to keep my family's plant book together, but a smooth, shiny brown that spoke of sturdiness and agelessness. I brought the book up to my nose and inhaled a smell so earthy and rich I became lost in the woods again. I held it there for a long moment. I couldn't stop touching it either, so fine was the leather - an extravagance to which I was unaccustomed. There was a small belt that originated at the binding and went to the edge of the covers, ending in a clasp that kept the book closed when not in use. There was also a red strip of cloth, intricately braided, that served as a kind of bookmark. Upon opening the book, the pages were lined on one side and unlined on the other. I noticed the carefully hidden binding that, with a small flick of a clasp, opened up to allow the addition of further pages. I was astonished by the mechanical intricacy of the device that allowed this book to double in thickness. Under the book lay filler paper and a note from Dr. Aurelius:

_"But each day brings its petty dust_

_Our soon-choked souls to fill,_

_And we forget because we must_

_And not because we will."_

_-M.A._

I considered the poem for a moment before placing it inside the journal. There were some things I did not have the power to willfully forget.

Setting the journal on my lap, I looked inside of a smaller box. Opening it, I took out a rectangular package which contained pink pills encased in a sturdy plastic. Inside was a general calendar that indicated one pill should be taken one time per week. There were 53 pills – it seemed a double dose was required the first time they were taken. There were instructions that I set aside to read as soon as I had explored the other items in the box. At the bottom of the box were 10 small foiled packages attached to each other. The packages were shiny but transparent on one side. All I could make out was a kind of thin material rolled into a ring surrounded by fluid. I shook my head and went about the task of reading the packaging, blushing profusely.

They went _where_?

I dropped the packages on the bed as if they were on fire. Who invented this stuff anyway? I shook my head and went back to the instructions with the pills. The pills did not work right away – they required 14 days before a woman could be considered protected. Apparently the prophylactics – those were the foils – could be used in the interim to keep a woman safe from unwanted pregnancy.

I looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Under Capitol rule, birth control was strictly prohibited. The Capitol did not want its supply of potential tributes to dwindle because women got it into their heads that it was better not to have babies at all than to have them either starved or reaped, an opinion I heartily shared. I often overheard my mother speaking to women about herbs and salves that could help a woman avoid becoming pregnant. Most couples, however, just relied on the withdrawal method which was incredibly unreliable, when you considered the number of babies born each year. I brought my knee up and rested my chin on it. To think there were so many ways our suffering could have been reduced yet the Capitol never made them available to the Districts. The sadism that they were capable of was without limit.

I toyed with the packages for another minute. What was I committing myself to if I took those pills? Was I admitting that there could be a time when Peeta and I would, well, be with each other in that way? I thought of the times when he kissed me, how uncomfortable, frightened and excited he could make me feel all at once. And my body had intentions of its owns, moving against him, waking up to him without any will on my side, as if I was a useless bystander. Even now, thinking of his hands on my thighs near the lake, the way he didn't just kiss my neck but let his tongue run over the skin, made me throb involuntarily. The reaction was beyond my control and I was not sure how I felt about that.

I looked at the box again, staring hard at the box of pills. Without thinking any further about it, I punctured the foil behind the first two pills, read through the instructions carefully and went to the bathroom to fetch a glass of water.

**XXXXX**

The next day, I was down the stairs, bow and arrow slung over my shoulder, my journal in a bag at my back. My session that morning with Dr. Aurelius had been a productive one. He saw my going to the lake with Peeta as progress and encouraged me to make a habit of going there with him. "Beauty should be the center of your lives, not merely an afterthought." I wondered to myself how much time he spent memorizing quotes to share with me but banished the thought as ungenerous and instead tried to see the significance of what he was saying. I had been properly reprimanded for not actually hunting and doing my homework so I was now off to rectify this. I passed Peeta in the garden and left a kiss on his cheek before running down the path that lead to the entrance of the woods.

I was in high spirits that morning, the day fresh and bright. It would be another hot one but these were mountain forests and the shade would offer a relief from the sun. I could feel my blood quickening as I began to descend into the trees. The old Katniss was calmed by these woods but I felt no calm this morning. I wanted to move and feel my body again. I was running through paths I had memorized as a child, feeling the branches swipe at my cheeks, stones rising out of the ground to catch me and toss me down but I was too agile. I had run in those awful games, for my life or Rue's or Peeta's. But this was different. This was not terror that lapped at my heels. I wasn't running towards or away from anyone or anything. I ran to feel my muscles burn, my heart pound. I ran to feel alive and revel in the fact that at that moment, no one wanted me otherwise.

I began to tire and slowed down, trying to regulate my breathing. Stopping abruptly would have had the unpleasant effect of making me dizzy so I jogged until I was sure I was stable again. My braid was in disarray, tangled with leaves so I paused a moment to re-braid it. I looked around me and knew I had gone farther into the woods than I had intended. I began to slowly walk back towards territory closer to home.

Approaching my woods, I began to feel the melancholy set in. Tired from my exertions, I climbed onto the branches of a sturdy tree and sat looking at the forest. I began to take in the physical view of the land -the vegetation, no longer wet from the morning mist, the intense green of well-nourished plants. I was not the same girl who used to find refuge here and suddenly felt like a stranger in my own home. I hated the feeling. Dr. Aurelius told me to simply do what felt natural so I carefully climbed down my tree and walked further as the ground began to ascend. I found myself at the large rock where Gale and I spent so much of our time when we came to these woods. It reminded me of a funeral pyre and I resented that also.

A slow-burning rage began to grow in me that I should feel so estranged from this. I had a list of complaints and became infuriated with the utter madness of this life. What had I done to earn this, in the end? What had any of us done but have the sad misfortune of being born in a time and place where human beings did not even rank enough to have the right to live without the fear of everything nature had given them being taken away on the whim. Why did someone as good as Prim end up fried in mid-air, duped into giving in to her nurturing instincts to have those turned against her into the instrument of her death? And why did I have to wonder for the rest of my life if my best friend, my only friend, was the one who could have been responsible for that?

I sat down and began emptying myself onto the first blank page. "I miss him. There are chunks of my heart that have gone missing because now, when I think of him, instead of thinking of his steady loyalty, his easy friendship, I am forced to couple him with the death of my sister. I am so angry that instead of who we were, war and death have made us so different that even if Prim were not in the middle, we would not be able to have what we once had, because there would be all of that loss in between us. The Reaping changed the entire path of our lives, sending us in two different directions where one had been before. If I can't resolve this, I will never be able to be in these woods again."

I sat for a long while on this rock, remembering him. Maybe it was the increasing heat as the day wore on, the exhaustion of my run or the forlorn mood that had settled on me but I felt so defeated. I was sick of thinking of everyone I loved as a function of their respective tragedies. There was more to Gale than the win-at-all-costs rebel he had become. Just like there was more to Prim then her death, more to Peeta than his flashbacks, more to Haymitch than his liquor. Finnick should be remembered as more than just the Victor whose head had been eaten off by a Muttation; Rue was more than just a dead girl in a bed of flowers. This was the Capitol's way, to reduce us all to the manner of our deaths. We were all more than this and I was tired of remembering us in this way. In the middle of my pondering the dead, it came to me.

_I want to remember them as they were_.

I might not ever see Gale again in this life. Certainly, I could not see him now – I couldn't know how I would react towards him. But there was a universe of life that we had shared and I refused to let the Capitol take that piece from me also.

I began to scribble in my book, writing down everything I could remember about Gale – the scrawny lankiness of him at 12 years old, his naming me with the nickname that only he was allowed to use, the way his fingers looked as he nimbly fashioned the most intricate snares without error every single time, the ferocity with which he protected both my family and his, the emptiness in his eyes when he learned our fathers had died in the mine explosion and how that forged a bond so strong that his loss had crippled the most integral part of me. I wrote of his olive skin and grey eyes, how very similar we were, more like siblings than friends. I wrote and wrote until my fingers were tired.

As the day progressed, I felt the time I spent here draw to its own close and began to stand, closing my book and putting it carefully into the little sack I brought to carry it. I felt less morose, more purposeful as I considered the project that had been born on this rock. I knew that the next time I returned to this rock, those daggers of ice would not be in my heart any longer. I had freed something into the universe and I was lighter as a result of it. I descended the rock, our rock but at the bottom, I turned to it. I placed three fingers to my lips and extended the arm outwards, saluting it and all that had been between Gale and me. When next I returned here, it would not be haunted with the ghosts of my former life. It would be a monument to something I had loved fiercely and had made me better because of it, no matter what losses came afterward. I set those wraiths to the sky and entreated them to never return. At that, I turned and walked out of my woods.

**XXXXX**

I returned home to find Peeta on the porch, sketchbook in hand, diligently at work. Upon my approach, he looked up and smiled. I set my things on the porch and sat on his lap, forcing him to set aside his work.

"I've been thinking." I started.

"Uh-oh." He quipped, running his hands over my hips, the motion threatening to banish all further thoughts from my head.

I took a deep breath and decided to spare the preamble. "Peeta, every time I think of Finnick, I don't think about how funny he was, or how protective and sweet he was with Annie. I think of him being shredded by those lizards." I stopped, the memory threatening to overwhelm me but I needed to say what I wanted to say. "That wasn't him. I mean, it's how he died. Fine. I was there. I know this. But I want to remember what he was like when he was alive, when I knew him, when we loved him." The blue in Peeta's eyes had gone almost slate from the intensity of his attention. And yet I couldn't look away. "Do you remember my family's plant book? We'd been putting it together for a long time and it eventually kept us alive. I want to do something like that for the people we loved, to keep them alive, not to remember how they died but how they lived. Otherwise, we let the Capitol take one more thing away. They have taken enough from us." I paused again, taking out my journal and handing it to him, trying not to get carried away by the emotion of it. "What do you think? Does that make sense?"

Peeta ran his hand over the journal, studying it as I had. "This is really beautiful. No wonder you were inspired." He pondered the idea a moment and said "It makes sense. All they cared about with their tributes is how they died. If they had seen how we lived, I think not even the Capitol's citizens would have had the stomach to watch us kill each other." He took the book from my hand. "In your family's book, there are drawings of the plants. Do you want to add pictures to this book also? We can try to get pictures from the photo archives. Cressida could help us with that. Whatever we can't find or if what we find is not good enough, I could compensate with a sketch."

I smiled at his enthusiasm over the idea. No doubt, he also suffered the same way, wanting to recall those who were dear to him but unable to get past the gruesome nature of their death. We were both cursed with remembering and forgetting. The lines of Dr. Aurelius' poem rang in my ears again:

_"…And we forget because we must_

_And not because we will."_

I wanted to choose those memories together with Peeta and forget, if our treacherous minds ever allowed, the things that would undo us.

Peeta was about to speak again when Haymitch appeared at the foot of our stairs. It was clear he had not had that much to drink from the way he did not take the opportunity to tease me about my position on Peeta's lap, the way are heads were so close together as we spoke. I got up self-consciously and took a seat just adjacent to Peeta. Haymitch took the seat across from us.

"I just came back from town." He started. I don't know why I was surprised that he went into town at all. My hermetic lifestyle did not necessarily extend to him.

"The anniversary of the Reaping is taking place in three days' time." I looked quickly at Peeta and felt an irrational anger towards Haymitch for bringing it up. Peeta and I had done a good job of ignoring that fact considering his reaction the last time we spoke of it. I could see Peeta imperceptibly clench and unclench his hands.

"The whole of Panem will be recognizing it. Each district will have its own ceremony. The unveiling of the memorials themselves will be staggered throughout the day so that every citizen can watch the unveiling from all of the districts, including the Capitol."

In the time of the Capitol's iron rule, Reapings were staggered so that Capitol citizens would be able to see them live on television. Lasting no more than half an hour, it totaled 6 hours of Capitol viewing time. The Districts themselves did not glue themselves to the proceedings with the same verve. They were either too busy getting ready to grieve or in the grip of grief already.

"President Paylor will be giving a speech at the closing of the ceremonies. Every citizen in Panem has been asked to watch." Haymitch paused to let this sink in. We weren't ordered to watch; already a major change from the forced televised events of days past. However, I could already feel the anxiety growing in me.

"What does this have to do with us?" I asked with undisguised ferocity.

"Each tribute will be recognized in District 12's memorial and the new mayor has requested the presence of any living tributes and their families to attend event."

"Well, considering it's just us, what kind of turnout are they expecting?" I spat. I didn't want any part of this.

"There are some families who survived the firebombing who will be available for the ceremony. It's not just us" said Haymitch cautiously.

"What are they planning on doing during this ceremony? Call us up and ask for volunteers?" I was seething at this point. Peeta was uncharacteristically quiet, listening to our exchange with rapt attention.

"They will be unveiling a memorial to all of the tributes ever sent in to the games. There were 75 games, two per year except for the second Quarter Quell which had two extra tributes from each district. An additional two for the two times there were volunteers - 154 memorials in total."

"What, do we get to double dip in these memorials?" I could not contain my derision.

"Katniss." Peeta whispered, putting his hand over mine.

I pulled my hand away from him, though not with the abrupt anger that I was feeling. "What, Peeta? Do they want to parade us around again? Will they dress us up and give us the lines to say? I've given enough shows in my life. I'm not interested in any of it."

Haymitch looked hard at me, losing a bit of his equanimity. "They don't want you to do anything. This is for you. For us. We've been invited to the town center to pay our respects and I for one am going. I knew all the tributes of the last twenty five years and grew up with or knew many of the others before that." He looked down at his hands before reaching into his jacket for his flask. He took a long draught before continuing. "I've been in discussions with the organizers. It will be handled very respectfully."

I did not want to let my anger go. "No one ever spoke to us."

Haymitch looked me in the eye again. "That was my decision. I did not want to expose you to any more stress. It's my job to look after you two."

"We appreciate that. We really do," whispered Peeta finally.

"I'll let you two discuss it but if you want my opinion, it would be good for you to go. There will be giant television screens in the center for anyone who wants to watch the live memorials in public. Not everyone wants to experience this alone. This is not something that belongs to just us." I knew he meant this comment for me in particular.

At this, Haymitch stood up and, without another word, walked back to his house.

Peeta looked down at his hands for a long moment, lost in thought. When he looked up, he spoke more into the night air than to me.

"From the center, all I had to do was look down the street to see our bakery." He said this so quietly I thought I had imagined it.

"Peeta, you don't have to do this. We don't have to do this. We don't owe this to anyone." I begged him.

"Don't we, Katniss? I won't say we are responsible for the Revolution – we were just trying to survive and did something at the right moment that set a chain of events in motion. But we aren't the only ones who lost in this war. The whole country is scarred from what happened last year. It's right that they acknowledge all of the children who were sacrificed to the Capitol so that people know it should never happen again."

"But why us?" I exploded. "Why do we have to keep giving and giving? I've done my part and so have you. What more do they want from us?" My voice was loud and surely carried over the night air.

"I don't think we have to do anything more than bear witness." Said Peeta quietly. He was such a contrast to my burning rage. He was always the better side of the two of us.

I felt defeated. "You want to go, don't you?"

He simply nodded at this, his head drooping under the weight of it. He hadn't even had a chance to grieve his family in the way he wanted, hadn't made it to the site of their annihilation. Why should he be forced to do so before his time?

I sat quietly with my thoughts for a moment, wishing with everything in my power despite how broken and shattered I was inside, that I could bear this pain in his place. My heart ached for him and I could not help making his pain my own.

Then there were the looks. We would surely be stared at, our every reaction a basis for commentary for the news cameras that would appear in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the Mockingjay gone wild. I did not think I could expose myself in that way. And yet, there was Peeta, who gave so much and asked so very little. We had done worse things than this for each other. I imagined him in that square, grieving and alone and the muscles of my chest clench painfully.

I took my place on his lap again, holding him tightly. "Peeta, if this is what you want, I'll go with you."

He looked at me in surprise. "Are you sure? You don't have to."

"Did you think I could let you do this alone? This is what you and I do. We protect each other." I said solemnly.

Resting his head on my chest, Peeta put his arms around me and held onto me, as if his very life depended on it.

**The next chapter will be a special one. My incredible Beta, TiffOdair and I have been really working on making sure all the pieces work so I hope you enjoy it. **

**Let me know what you think of this chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, another chapter that got away from me. I meant to make this chapter about the Day of Remembrance but instead this chapter just wanted to be written so here it is. Let me know what you think about it. I watched the movie version of The Hunger Games again and was desperately in need of an assertive Peeta. **

**HG Fanfic Rec: The Luxury and the Necessity by Devanrae. Another take on the Growing Together Genre. It is so worth the read.**

**I love your reviews. Thank you, thank you! The more you review, the faster I write ****J.**

**Thanks also to TiffOdair, for letting me borrow her brain. She gave some great ideas for this and upcoming chapters.**

**Chapter 10 – Confrontation**

As soon as I agreed to accompany Peeta to the ceremony, a felt a ball of anxiety settle in the pit of my stomach. I rose from my place on his lap and leaned on the bannister of the porch, looking out into the darkened woods. It was nearly pitch black, the only light coming from the houses in Victor's Village. Looking over to my right, I could see the twinkling of lights in the town but the edge of the woods represented the limits of humanity and safety. The darkness beyond was barely held at bay by the pinpoints of light, threatening to encroach and snuff out the fragile security built by the children of men.

I put my head between my arms and let it hang, my braid dangling in the air. I was suddenly morose, the feeling in my stomach blossoming into full-blown dread, so painful I could feel the stabbing through to my back. So up would go the memorials. So we would all remember. I thought of Johanna, how irreverent and tough she was and how she had been reduced to fearing water – _water_ – of all things. Would the memorials bring her to love water again? Would the memorials bring Prim back? What was the point of all of it except to feel all of that loss and pain again? Maybe that is what the living needed – the upheaval of deep emotion to feel alive. To forget that we, too, were the walking dead.

I turned from my place at the bannister and looked at Peeta. He was also transported by his thoughts, staring off into darkness. Words seemed to have no place here, the phantoms of lost tributes taking the trivial sounds out into the night. When there was no more light by which to see, I put my hand out, silently entreating him to follow me inside. Heavily, he rose from his spot and walked with me up to his room.

Lying next to him, I felt so far from everything. Despite my exertions of the day, I refused to sleep, forcing my eyes open every time I felt myself drift, knowing the evil that waited around the corners of my dreams. Peeta took a long while to sleep, an air of expectancy around him. Maybe he wanted to talk. But I had nothing. My mind would not rest long enough to latch onto anything coherent. When his breathing became even, I carefully slipped out of bed and crept quietly downstairs. There was nothing in this house to calm me so I opened the front door and stepped barefoot into the clean summer air.

Here, I let my thoughts take hold of me. It occurred to me that Prim had been a tribute also, if only for a moment. I thought of that day when I volunteered in her place, believing that I was conceding life to her, taking the certainty of self-destruction in her place. How naïve I had been. What I had really done was hand her a death sentence, deferring the moment of her demise. I had momentarily taken her death out of Snow's hands and handed it in a neat, bloody package to Coin instead. The futility of it all pushed me deeper into the dark hole that lived inside of me. I had possessed no real freedom, no choice, embracing a hope that was just a mask for death.

These were the thoughts that kept me company that night. Despite all of my efforts, I eventually fell asleep in the chair. No sooner had I lost my connection to the world than the nightmares began. I was in the town center, standing behind a crowd of District 12 residents. My dream-self walked towards the crowd until I saw what had captured their attention. It was a stature of a girl. As I drew closer, it was clear this was not any girl, but Prim herself, standing on a stone pedestal. However, she was not made of stone, instead held immobile by some force, her face as impassive as the rest of her body. I sensed the danger even though it was not visible to my mind's eye – the conclusion of every dream involving Prim was the same. I fought against the unrelenting crowd, a wall of bodies resolved to not let me pass. As desperation overtook me, I screamed her name over and over. Hearing my name, the statue that was my sister turned its head in my direction. At that moment, she burst into flames, her dress and skin becoming blacker and blacker. I began to claw and kick, screaming to reach her, to try to put out the flames that were charring her alive. Slowly, she raised an arm towards me, finger pointing. Though her mouth did not move, I heard the words inside my head; "You did this to me." Helplessly, I watched her burn, the scene becoming more horrible by the complete absence of a reaction from her, just eyes that held mine in accusation. I was insane with my uselessness. It was only when the flames reached her hair that I could turn away from the vision.

Trapped as a witness to my sister's continued destruction, I heard my name being called in a voice I recognized and slowly began to recede from this vision into those familiar arms. Half-way between the flames of Prim's destruction and the waking world, I could feel Peeta shaking me, having tried for who knows how long to wake me. I was no longer in the chair but on the floor, having fallen out at some point during the nightmare. I pushed away from him, still in the throes of my vision, trying to crawl away from him on my hands and knees, searching for a corner in which to curl up and die.

It was then that I cried out, a howling sound like the keening of a dying animal that carried into the darkened forest. There was shuffling around me as I vaguely became aware of Haymitch's tread on the porch, kneeling next to me. I couldn't stop my wailing, balling myself on the ground to keep out the horror that only lived in me, my hands pressed against the sides of my head, sobbing and calling for her. My closed eyes kept replaying her burning body from my nightmare, from the Capitol. She died over and over and I did not have the means to retreat. Finally, I heard before feeling a sharp slap across my face that pulled me completely out of my dream. My cheek stung painfully as I felt Peeta suddenly leave my side, screaming angrily and hurling vile words at Haymitch, words I never thought his mouth could utter.

I opened my eyes to see Haymitch on his haunches, hands up to ward off Peeta's blows. I shook my head and sat up to stop Peeta from hurting him.

"Don't, Peeta, it's okay. It's okay."

Peeta turned his eyes to look at me, the pupils of his eyes having taken over the incandescent blue, rage making them glitter even in the dark.

"He was just trying to help." I whispered before pulling him down to me.

"Nice language." Haymitch smirked, dusting himself off and examining his arm. There would surely be a bruise in the morning. "Didn't know you had it in you." Peeta had a murderous look and I pulled him closer to me. "Look, boy, they're called night terrors. You can't just talk a person out of them, same way nobody can talk you out of a flashback." He looked warily at Peeta's fists before directing his attention to me. "And what are you doing out here, anyway?"

I just shook my head, trying to clear it of the lancing pain on my cheek and the remnants of the nightmare. "I didn't want to wake Peeta. I didn't think I'd fall asleep." I was ashamed of my weakness, my throat raw from screaming, my face still wet with my crying.

"So you decided to wake the neighborhood, instead? Lucky me."

"I'm sorry." I sobbed.

"Don't. He probably wasn't even sleeping." whispered Peeta as he held me against him.

Haymitch looked down at me, assessing my condition while Peeta still shook from his anger. "You better get something cold on that."

"It's okay. I've had it worse." I looked up meaningfully at Peeta, hoping he would at least apologize to Haymitch.

"Yeah, thanks." Muttered Peeta. Haymitch turned to go down the stairs, waving vaguely into the air.

As an afterthought, Peeta called out to him. "By the way, if you ever put your hands on her again, I'll rip your head off of your shoulders."

Haymitch smirked at this and said "Then you slap her. You'd both probably enjoy it more, anyway." At that, he was soon across the lawn and back in his house.

If I had not been under the influence of my nightmare, I might have been mortified by his vulgarity. As it was, I let Peeta help me up and lead me inside. He gently removed my jacket and walked me upstairs, putting me into bed and bringing me a glass of water. He took the glass from me when I was done and got into bed next to me. He then removed his prosthetic, wincing as he put it in its place next to the bed.

"Is it hurting you?" I asked worriedly.

"I was in a hurry when I put it on and think I put it on wrong. It's just sore." He said, taking a cream from the end table and applying it to his stump, rubbing it.

"Let me." I whispered, ashamed to add this to the list of wounds I had given him. He wore boxer shorts because of the summer air but he pulled the blanket over his leg, a blush of shame creeping over his face.

"I've seen your leg before." I begged quietly.

Peeta gave me that intense look that went right through me and made it hard to hold his gaze. He released the blanket as I took the cream from his hands, smelling it out of curiosity. It had a slight minty smell and felt cool on my fingers. I scooped a bit more out of the jar and spread the cream gently over the spot where his thigh ended, just above where his knee would have been. I was careful not to press too hard, even though it was silly to think he still felt any more pain there than anywhere else. I rubbed the pinched scar of his amputation, the muscled skin of his thigh above. I had not been this close to his leg since our time in the cave and it filled me with a terrible sense of loss I had to push away from me for fear I would cave into it. Instead, I let the movement of kneading his skin hypnotize me. I barely heard him when he spoke again.

"Why were you downstairs?" he asked.

"I didn't want to fall asleep." I said truthfully. "I knew what was coming."

Peeta seemed to accept this and leaned his head back on the pillows propped against the headboard. He let out a small moan of pleasure that made me shiver. "That feels good."

"It's the least I can do." I said guiltily. "You should let me do this more often."

Peeta did not respond, his eyes becoming hooded as he continued to watch me. I was wearing a thin gown. The heat did not allow for anything more. I suddenly felt every inch of my expose skin tingle with electricity.

"The next few days won't be easy for anyone, Katniss. You can rely on me." He whispered.

I stopped my massage, shaking my head. "I rely on you too much already."

He leaned forward and touched my arm. "It's not too much. I depend on you a lot also."

"Not nearly as much as I on you. I wake you up ten times on a bad night. I could feel that nightmare coming on." I said miserably.

"Then let them come. See, you went outside, had a nightmare anyway, fell out of a chair and woke up to Haymitch. Is that really the alternative you were looking for?"

I smiled at that, shaking my head. "If you put it that way, no."

Peeta pulled me in to lie next to him. He propped himself on his elbow to look down at me, running his hand over my shoulder and arm. "We take care of each other. Real or not real?"

Somehow the context of the game did not make me miserable so I played along. "Real."

"Good. Because otherwise, you'll get stuck with Haymitch." He chuckled at his joke and I couldn't help but widen my smile. He pulled back to look at me seriously, running his forefinger over my wounded cheek and skirting over my lips. "You are so pretty when you smile." He whispered.

I felt unbearably shy, my smile faltering under the examination of his finger. The air in the room seemed to go still, the sounds of the night creatures pausing outside of the window. The vibration of my body increased as I became more disoriented by his finger. My lips parted involuntarily and Peeta, sensing the invitation, brought his lips down to kiss me, first gently, playing with my lips, taking them between his and savoring them. Remembering when he kissed me in the kitchen, I caught his bottom lip in mine and gently sucked on it, reveling in their incredible softness, feeling a sense of satisfaction at his sharp intake of breath. The constant chatter of my brain went still as every fiber of my conscious became riveted on the feeling of his lips on mine. When his tongue dipped into my mouth, my own tongue rose to embrace his, dancing with him. I became disoriented from the feeling, drinking in the taste of him.

He pressed deeper into me, his kiss becoming more insistent. I brought my hand up to his neck, feeling his short blond hair tickle my fingers. I let my fingers linger in his hair, playing with them before tugging his head down closer to me. He responded to the increase in intensity by running his hands down my side to my waist and pulling my hips toward him. I moaned into his mouth. The sensation of his hands made me delirious and my own hands explored his back, the sinews of his arms. His chest was broad and well formed. I could feel the curls through the material of his t-shirt and ran my fingertips over them, feeling the indentations they made in the material. I was desperate to taste more of him and stopped kissing him to run my swollen lips down over the cleft in his chin, my tongue darting out to capture the taste of him. His entire body shivered as I continued along his jaw and to his ear. The sounds that I made embarrassed me but I was beyond caring. I let my tongue dip into his ear and suck on the delicious skin of his earlobe, nipping it with my teeth. I was ravenous to sample every inch of him and ran my lips along his neck, skating my tongue across the hollow of his collarbone. I was recklessly bold, making his body tremble. His gentle caresses turned into kneading as his fingers dug into my hips.

Soon, the length of my body was pressed against his and what had been hands gently running over each other became more demanding. I whispered his name, which made Peeta grind himself into me, trying to close the space that no longer existed between us. I was without limit, tugging him towards me, my gown riding up around my hips. His hands ran along the exposed skin of my thigh and up my side, his thumb just skirting the swell of my breasts, causing the peaks to harden painfully. The sun had meanwhile relocated to someplace between my legs and I felt a wet throbbing so fierce it was real pain and I longed for relief. When Peeta shifted his good leg between my own, I felt the clear evidence of his arousal against my thigh. The contact with me made him shudder and groan. I was suddenly curious – what was he like there? The thought made my back arched involuntarily against him, exposing my neck to his mouth. He kissed me feverishly, licking and tasting my skin.

I became almost ill with the need to relieve myself of the incredible pressure that had built up between my thighs. I shifted my legs, wrapping them around him, feeling his hardness pressed against me. Here, Peeta did not even try to disguise his groan. I could lose myself this way – all the nightmares, the grief – I could swallow them up in his body. I bucked against him, feeling him rub against me, his rubbing becoming rhythmic, his head hanging over me. His hands crept under the gown again which was now somewhere around my waist, swept his hand over my belly, every inch of my skin burning from his touch. My hands slipped down into his shorts and boldly ran over his ass, pulling him into me. At this, he suddenly froze and pulled back, his head hanging as he panted.

"Katniss, If I don't stop now…"

It was visible that the effort it took to control himself was a significant one. The occasional tremor ran through him as he struggled to catch his breath. I felt murderous – why would he stop? I, too, was panting, my body screaming in disappointment. I rolled over onto my side as he flopped onto his back, every ache I felt magnified a thousand times for him. I felt ashamed at my display – my moans, my squirming, practically begging for him. I didn't understand – and yet I did. Of course it wouldn't be like this with him. He would never treat this like an afterthought, an impulse and for once, his perfect goodness, his reliability to always do the right thing infuriated me and made me want to slap him. I knew before I asked what his answer would be but I was a masochist and would do it to myself anyway.

"Why?" I whispered.

Peeta sighed, his arm over his head, not answering for a long time. When he finally did, it was a whisper. "Because it has to be real. Not just something we do for comfort or loneliness; especially with the Reaping and everything else. I'm already a goner but if it turned out to be something else…"

I understood him. It was me. He needed to be sure that I was doing it for him, not out of some other baser instinct of which I was quite capable. To drown out the nightmares. To forget. It would destroy him if he thought it was an instrumental act. I ached a little for his doubt but I, more than anyone else understood self-preservation. My pride was wounded so I was not in any condition tonight to relieve anyone else of their insecurities. I accepted the emptiness created by the exercise of his patience. I continued to lie on my side, even when he pulled the blanket up to cover me. I could feel him come close to me, as he often did, one arm around my waist. I didn't bother to snuggle into him or even move. I just lay in that position, rigid, the echo of him burned into my skin, no relief in sight. I felt the mindless anger continue to build in me in consequence to my embarassment, the one that took the place of more nuanced emotion, the easy emotion to retreat to when subtlety was the better option. I felt him pull in closer, kissing my shoulder, which felt like needles pricking my over-sensitized skin. "Don't do that, Katniss. Relax, please."

"Katniss, kiss me, Katniss, I need to stop, Katniss, relax please. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. Guess what, I'll just sleep in my own house!" I hurled this at him as tried to get up from my place in bed. I was so achy and frustrated and unsatisfied, I wasn't in the mood for the delicacy the moment required.

His arm would not budge. Sometimes I forgot how very strong he was.

"I'm not going to let you do that. You're not freezing me out." He said, his arm tightening around me.

Perhaps because it was easier to be stubborn than wise, I pushed uselessly against his arm. When this did not work, I began fighting against him. I took him by surprise as I smacked and punched him, screaming in my frustration. All of the stress of the day came out and I was like a rabid cat, kicking and fighting, the tears of rage dripping down the sides of my face. Peeta avoided the worst of my blows, though a few landed hard against his arms and face.

He still did not release me, grappling with my arms instead. I brought my legs up to kick at him but even without his leg, Peeta was agile enough to pin me down, my hands ending up over my head, held in the vice-like grip of his hands. If I had not been so angry, I would have thrilled at his domination. I arched my back, bucking my hips, the friction a reminder of our heated contact of only a few moments ago.

"Let me go!" I screamed, writhing beneath him.

"I can't." he said simply,

I thought of another time, of a crushed nightlock capsule and assassinated presidents and seethed at his words, banging my head into the mattress until I was spent and all my muscles collapsed at once.

He lowered his head to my ear, the breath hot against my neck. "I want you all the time, so bad sometimes I can't think straight." He paused, seeming to breathe me in. I began throbbing again and hated myself for my weakness. "But I want you to _want_ me too, not just _need_ me to get you through things. I don't want to be your crutch, the one you just happened to end up with. I'm not going to be that guy." He looked at me.

"What do you want from me?" I hissed at him.

His eyes went dark. "Everything."

I felt the fight go out of me, my limbs finally becoming jelly. Funny, he could have whatever he wanted. It would be so easy to tell him that I loved him, to try to pacify his need but I couldn't do it. The words got stuck in my throat and my anger and frustration constricted my throat further. They were binding and he was right, this was not the time to figure it out. I couldn't utter in the light of day my secret whispers on the night of the flashbacks and that made me a coward.

"You can let me go. I'm not going anywhere." I whispered.

He released my arms, sliding off of me and onto his side. I imagined how uncomfortable it must have been for him to put his weight on his stump and could feel his relief when he took the pressure off of it. I tugged the nightgown down from where it had ridden up over my waist and turned away from him, this time, too tired to be tense but not seeking him out either. Peeta reached over me to switch off the lamp. Stretching out next to me, he undid my messy braid and ran his hand through my hair until it was untangled. I really wanted him to stop touching me and just let me sleep, his every movement painful to me but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of speaking further. I had come undone and did not know where to rest my mind. When I finally did close my eyes, I spent the whole night dreaming of tangled bodies and heated kisses that ended in the satisfaction I had been denied.

**Tell me what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

**This is an extra-long chapter. Thanks to TiffOdair for the great ideas.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Worse Games to Play by Belmione. This is a beautiful retelling of how Katniss decides to finally have children.**

**Disclaimer: The idea for the speech was an amalgamation of Elie Wiesel's speech to the East Room of the White House called The Perils of Indifference and Jimmy Carter's dedication speech for the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington D.C. Together they hit the right note.**

**Disclaimer #2: I don't own the Hunger Games. **

**Disclaimer #3: I've gotten some really great reviews. I respond to all of my reviews unless it is posted anonymously by a Guest. In this case, this shout out is for you, too.**

**Chapter 11 – The Day of Remembrance**

After that night, I found it hard to look at Peeta without being overwhelmed by feelings of embarrassment. I wanted to go back to the ease of the previous days but my efforts at normality failed miserably. After an awkward breakfast in which Peeta tried too hard to be cheerful, I grabbed my bow and arrow and decided to go hunting. Despite what Peeta said, I needed to be alone. He did not bring me the comfort I sought that day so I was determined to find it in my woods. I sat for a long time in a tree, letting my mind flit from one thing to another without any direction until I concentrated on what needed attention. The majority of my survival depended on the unwavering certainty of my instincts, the sureness that at the moment of decision, I was right regardless of the consequences. This was a trait born of years of having to anticipate the movement of prey during a hunt. It seemed this very trait which ensured my success at catching deer and rabbit made me completely worthless in the realm of human interaction. This became magnified during the Games, where I went from danger to danger, ready at the smallest provocation to react. I don't know if this wariness would ever wear off but there were times that it was best to stand and wait, something I was terrible at doing. Peeta was better at this. It was no accident that Coin toyed with saving him instead of me in the Arena – his ability to interact and persuade people was a powerful, innate gift.

Last night, I was completely, utterly and miserably myself. I was reactive towards everything – the stress of the ceremonies, Peeta's hands and mouth, the resulting frustration of stopping something so consuming. It pained me to admit it but he was right. I reacted to him out of a need to be comforted, to forget the travesty that was my life. That I was attracted to him, there could be no doubt – it was becoming more difficult to ignore as the time passed. And I knew my feelings for him ran deep, the type that could take me to the end of my days. But I was not expressing these things last night and he knew it. So now, I was sulking because I didn't know how to come back around to making things normal again.

As the afternoon began to wear on, I lifted my bow and shot at two squirrels, a wild turkey and a rabbit, just to have something to show for the exorbitant amount of time I spent in the woods. When I returned home, Peeta was shut up in his studio so I went to work on cleaning my kills, setting the squirrels aside for Greasy Sae and putting the scraps in a bowl for Buttercup. I made a rabbit stew for dinner that night and despite the addition of herbs from the garden, it still tasted like sand in my mouth. Peeta came down warily and sat at the table across from me. He gave up the pretense of normalcy, eating with a grim set to his mouth. When he asked me if I wanted to talk, I just shook my head and begged off the rest of the evening with the excuse of exhaustion, after which I went upstairs, readied myself and went to bed.

When Peeta came in later, I pretended to be asleep as he went about his nighttime ritual. I felt the mattress sag under his weight as he removed the prosthetic. He shuffled under the thin blanket but did not come to my side of the bed. I drifted in and out of sleep, mostly because I was physically uncomfortable, trying so hard to _appear _asleep that I couldn't _actually_ sleep, my muscles cramping in an effort to remain still. Peeta moved occasionally during the night but they were not the movements of sleep either. When the sun lightened the sky, I slipped out of bed, not bothering to see if he was awake. I dressed, took my weapons and left again, spending the morning in the forest wandering uselessly. The exhaustion of the night before kept me unfocused until I gave in and curled up under a mossy tree to take a nap. When I awoke and saw the mid-afternoon light, I caught my token animals and returned home to the same routine. I was getting emptier and emptier with each passing moment. Maybe I would snuff out like a candle and eventually disappear.

Deep in the middle of that second night, with sleeplessness as my constant companion, I sensed the tension of his body. I looked over to see the clenched fists, could hear his teeth grinding together, his face twisted in an attitude between pain and fear. His chest heaved with whatever he struggled with in his nightmare. My previous unease forgotten, I crawled over to his side of the bed and wrapped him in my arms. I took his head between my hands and stroked him, whispering in his ear, entreating him to come back to me. He whimpered in his sleep – this was not quite a flashback but one of his frozen nightmares, the ones he had before the hijacking added its own hideous form of remembering. Slowly, his body relaxed, the grinding of his teeth ceased and his eyes fluttered open. He looked balefully at me, bringing his hand up to caress my face. All the petulance of the past two days fled me as I brought my lips down to shower him with gentle kisses – his eyes, forehead, cheeks, then mouth, rubbing his ear between my fingers. I slid down next to him to put my head on his shoulder. Hooking my left leg over his right, good leg, I sought out his hands and our fingers automatically intertwined over his chest. I finally drifted off into my own fitful seep. He would wake two more times to still my terrors. I understood then there would never come a time when we would not need to cling to one another.

I didn't hunt the next day, hovering close to Peeta. We worked on the book of memories together, seated at each end of the sofa. I wrote out my memories of Rue while he sketched her. I begged him not to draw her in the bed of flowers. I wanted her alive. I wrote of how we came to be allies, how she reminded me of Prim and stirred every caring instinct in me. I described the way she would stand like a bird about to take flight. The sweet trill of her voice. The bottomlessness of her large, brown eyes. The smooth cocoa brown of her luminous skin. The wiry dark curls that fascinated me by the very way they differed from every lock of hair I had ever known. I wrote of the desolation of her dying, unable to stem the tears as I described her parents and siblings on that day during the Victory Tour. Peeta looked at me from across the sofa, waiting for me to invite him into my sorrow. I set down the pages I was writing and looked longingly at him. He knew without asking and opened his arms to me. Sliding quietly into them, I let him rock me until the bottomless well of my tears dried up. That night, there was no space between us as we lay together against the unrelenting terrors of the night. I turned my mouth up to his ear and whispered that I would never again let my anger keep me away from him. That I had been stupid. That I was sorry. It was the first vow I made to him.

His mouth on mine was his acceptance. When our eyes closed, even the nightmares knew better than to intrude on us.

**xxxxx**

The day before the ceremonies, we went to Haymitch's house. Sitting in his squalid living room, we discussed the agenda for the next day. Despite the televisions in the square and the continuous live broadcasts, we would be present for only District 12's ceremony. Since District 12 was the last district, we would also remain for President Paylor's speech. Peeta invited Haymitch to come to our house for a late lunch before preparing for the ceremonies, at which Haymitch simply nodded. I came to another realization – that we three broken, discarded individuals were family now and it was right that we spend a moment like this in the company of each other. Peeta and I walked solemnly back to our house. There was one more thing I needed to do before letting this day end. I would call my mother.

"Stay with me." I begged him.

He simply nodded and sat next to me on the loveseat in the study. My mother and I had not spoken since the day he returned to District 12. I rang her and marveled at the way the sound of her voice could make the little house on the Seam appear around me. I half-waited for my sister to walk up to the doorway and knew this was why I never called her. She brought all of the ghosts back to life.

She asked about me, how I was doing. I told her I was as good as I could be under the circumstances. Peeta was with me and we took things one day at a time right now.

We spoke of the ceremonies – she would attend the District 4 unveiling with Annie and her infant son.

"Annie has a baby?" I gasped with wonder. Peeta looked at me quizzically, not quite believing what he had heard.

"He never knew?" I repeated. Peeta put his head in his hands, the shock and amazement of it overcoming him. A little piece of Finnick in the world. I choked on my tears at the perfection and sadness of it all.

"Please send a picture, would you? And one of Finnick and Annie too, if possible." I explained to my mother about our book of memories, how it was like our family book. She agreed to send them along for us. She told me how proud she was of us. How she wanted to see me. I told her I would see, as I was not allowed to leave District 12. I could not imagine under which circumstances she would come to me and a chasm threatened to break open in my heart, so full of fissures already. I steadied myself and ended the call before I lapsed into self-pity and remorse.

"A baby," Said Peeta, with a kind of reverence.

I nodded, pondering the utter insanity required of anyone who brings children into a world like ours, peopled with such a savage species. I would never be able to do it, I was sure of it. I hid from the open longing in Peeta's face, choosing instead to stare out the window.

**xxxxx**

The day of the ceremonies was a solemn affair. I carefully washed myself like I had done during that awful Reaping two years ago. I braided my hair as I had on every Reaping day, this time without the help of my mother. I searched for a dress for the occasion and laid out a simple beige linen sleeveless shift with a blue belt at the waist. It was not a District 12 style but it was not Capitol either. There was something timeless about the dress that rooted it everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I smoothed my burn cream over my body. The scars on my neck and arms would be exposed and while I did not mind showing them here in Victor's Village, I was self-conscious about letting the world see how their Mockingjay had been reduced. It suddenly occurred to me how very fortunate we were not to have been subjected to some Capitol-devised television campaign in advance of the ceremonies. Maybe they truly did opt for respect and sobriety. Or maybe Haymitch had used his cunning to see that this did not happen. I set the dress aside for the time I would put it on to go to the town center.

When I stepped downstairs, Peeta had on his baking apron. He was fidgety, moving from one part of the kitchen to the other, mixing things in a bowl one moment and cleaning up the next. I put my hand on his shoulder, making him jump. His eyes seemed bright, likely from the anxiety he was trying to channel into his baking. I gave him a hug, waiting for him to unwind enough to hug me back. Looking up, I said "I'll clean. You finish baking." He simply nodded and returned to his bread.

We were cooking together when Haymitch arrived. He was his usual disheveled self, though there seemed to be evidence that he had actually bathed and brushed his teeth, which meant he would only smell slightly and not release toxic vapors into the environment. I'd baked a wild turkey with carrots and potatoes and sautéed zucchini and squash on a skillet. _Sauté._ Peeta had taught me what that meant. Peeta made the bread. We had not meant for it to be a big meal but I caught the bird at the end of my excursion a few days ago and knew we would have to eat it soon. We ate quietly, an occasional comment about the meal being offered to vaguely fill the heavy silence that befell us. It seemed we dined with the dead this afternoon and they were not in the mood to speak.

When the kitchen was clean, Haymitch sat in a chair in the living room as Peeta and I took the sofa. Switching on the television, news commentators were already remarking on the momentous nature of today's ceremonies, the choice of date, the significance of the event for the future of Panem. I turned the television down, not really interested in listening to talking heads and seated myself comfortably on the sofa, Peeta laying his head on my lap. We would only watch a few of the unveilings before readying ourselves for District 12's events. Soon, the cameras were in District 4 at the commencement of the mayor's speech. Haymitch muttered under his breath but I did not pursue him for conversation. Peeta had long since dozed off, his frantic energy finally giving way to exhaustion as the meal began to have its soporific effect. I reveled in his smell, the firmness of his chest under my hands and felt a brief flicker of joy at the good luck of having him with me.

I was lost in these thoughts when I saw them. Dozens of large white flowers like lilies being handed to members of a procession. As the flowers were given out, the names of each of the tributes were read. I was riveted by the beauty of the flowers, the sheer number of them and curious as to where they were going. District 4 was a large, sprawling district along the eastern seaboard of Panem. The Justice Building was located on a stone boardwalk well above the crashing sea. The procession originated out of view of the Justice Building, individuals in a line walking up quietly to receive their treasure and proceeding barefooted down the wooden stairs connecting the beach to the street above. I nudged Peeta and pointed to the screen, explaining the procession. In the middle of my explanation, I heard their names:

Annie Odair

Finnick Odair

It was Annie carrying both of their flowers to sea. I got close to the screen and touched her red hair, the semi-vacant look in her lovely eyes. I sat back on my haunches, staring as the entire company, one by one, set the flowers to the sea. There was particular poignancy in Annie's reverence for the flower, kissing the petal before letting it float into the gentle tide. The cameras were trained on her for obvious reasons – Finnick's fame before the revolution, his valor in battle, his ultimate sacrifice. I couldn't help but think that the real love story of the Revolution belonged to her and Finnick and now their precious little boy.

So many flowers. So many lives. In one district alone.

I began to grasp the power of these ceremonies, the scale of loss and the time they spanned. Peeta, as usual, was prescient. The pain belonged to all of us and the healing as well. I was selfish in my desire to stay out of it. By being present, I let others know that these children lived, loved, suffered and in too many cases, died. That they mattered. This was true even when the deaths occurred at an advanced age, such as in the case of some victors. To have children ripped away from you was to rob you not just of life now but of your immortality, your right to have life beyond your own. When your child survived off of the deaths of other children, something more vital was robbed from the family and community – witness Haymitch and the complete sterility of his life.

Soon, there was a blanket of flowers floating in the sea, an invocation of souls called together to be released into the world of freed spirits because they had been remembered. Haymitch had his fingers steepled before his face, staring intently at the scene, his thoughts inscrutable to me. I turned to Peeta, who was sitting on the floor next to me, both of us becoming the two kids we really were, refusing to sit like adults in their chairs. I took his hand and kissed it gently. I wanted to acknowledge to him that he had been right but he probably didn't need it. To Peeta belonged another certainty, a moral compass so strong it would bring even the most fractured soul back from the world of shadows.

"Let's get ready." I said.

**XXXXX**

Every step I took towards the center seemed to increase the vibration of nerves in my stomach. My hand in Peeta's was the only stability I had, every joint and junction of my body having become a vibrating mass of jelly. I had to resist the urge to throw my arm around his waist and cling to him like a child. Even Haymitch was uncharacteristically quiet. The afternoon was so bright, the weather oblivious to the weeping of us poor groundling from the evil we inflict with our own hands. I looked up at Peeta, whose wonderful strong jaw, the one I could kiss for days if I were allowed, was clenched in tension. Moving my head close to him, I whispered "Hey."

Looking away from whatever thoughts had ensnared him, he gazed down at me, giving me a weary smile. "Hey."

I brought my hand up to caress his cheek. He caught it in my free hands and kissed my fingertips before lowering them gently. I glanced sideways at Haymitch to see a look of incredible tenderness flit across his face, so unlike his trademark smirk, he looked 10 years younger because of it. I nodded at him, his own curt nod the only response I would get.

As the road wound away from Victor's Village, I caught sight of the square from a distance. I was taken aback by how changed everything was. I suppose unconsciously I expected to find everything as I had in one of the last propos – piles of rubble, soot and bones everywhere, the carts of workers clearing out the bodies and debris. I did not expect to see a newly paved center and equally restored streets radiating out like spokes on the wheels. In the distance, there were still construction cranes and trucks, flatbeds filled with stone, brick and other building supplies.

The Justice Building had been cleaned and refurbished. There was still the platform before it, similar to the one once used to call up and send children to their horrid, lonely deaths. This platform was not of old, pocketed wood but of a newer, more modern material, held up by sturdy, foldable metal girds. In true District 12 style, there were no frills. A black skirt served to cover the girds, hiding them from chairs and benches set up before the stage.

But the greatest modification was a giant tarp in the center of the square that had not been there before. It was likely a statue on a wide, round pedestal. Even from this distance, I could see that it was a large structure surrounded by a black rope to keep it safe from the curiosity of the other onlooker who milled around it.

Two giant screens were set up on either side of the building. Even with the visors positioned above the screen to keep out the glare of the sun, I still had to squint from where I stood to see that the screen was on and something moved across it. I would have to get closer to see what was being shown.

I looked up at Peeta again. His family's bakery was on the northeast side of the square. Thankfully, there were trucks on that road so it was very hard to see clearly the work being done. However, even from here, it was evident that the roofs of the buildings that had once stood there were no more. The spot where his family lived – where he once lived – was just a part of a greater empty space that seemed to radiate out from the middle of the street to the end of that quarter.

"I don't know what I expected to see." He whispered to me.

"I'll go with you, whenever you are ready." I said to him. He simply squeezed my hand in response.

As we continued on our way, the houses became less sparse. People began to appear on the road, either walking towards the center going about their business. I could feel their eyes on us, people stopping to whisper to one another. Being mostly District 12 residents, they were somber by temperament so the attention was less invasive. I became more and more nervous as the clusters of houses became denser. To distract myself from the potential of interacting with people, I looked up and noticed them for the first time – poles along both sides of the road. I stopped a moment to get a closer look at the one of the poles closest to me. The tops were covered with a canvas that looked like a deflated balloon. Clearly, the canvases covered something. But the most remarkable thing about it was that the poles all seemed to descend on the structure in the center of the square. We were still high enough above the town that I could make out the telemetry of the center. All roads around the center radiated out like spokes on a wheel. Peeta's bakery, or what was left of it, was on one of the spokes to the north east, Victor's Village to the south east. This mysterious structure was intended as the center of the spokes of the wheel, the poles I had been studying ending, or originating, there. I was curious to see what was there, sensing that there was some great import to the design.

On our approach, a tall, wiry man made his way to us. He was lanky, with shortly cropped brown hair and the signature olive complexion of a Seam resident. As he came closer, I was shocked to see that it was Thom, Gale's mining companion from before the war. I was taken aback not only by his clean and tidy appearance but the clear evidence of health and vigor. The last time I saw Thom, I was on my first hunting trip after my return to District 12, the day Peeta returned. He was covered in grime from removing debris from Mayor Undersee's home and significantly thinner. He was the one who told me about Madge and her family and dependents not surviving District 12's firebombing.

As soon as he saw Peeta, he gave him a hearty handshake and clapped him on the shoulder. It was clear that Peeta had had more contact with him, perhaps during his trips to the train station or, less frequently, to the Hob. Thom turned to me and gently took my hand, discreetly appraising me before saying "It's nice to see you Katniss. You're looking really good."

I looked at the ground and mumbled "Thank you." The last time he saw me, I was half what I was now in weight and sanity.

"I'm glad I found you before you found a place to sit. You have a special seating assignment and I wanted to take you there before the crowds rolled in."

My stomach clenched in knots at this and I said, rather abruptly "We're not going to sit on the stage."

Thom smiled. I was known for my brusque nature and he took no offense. "No, nothing like that." He looked over at Haymitch. "The Capitol Press Corps is here, covering the ceremony. We agreed that we don't need some hotshot Capitol journalist making his career by trying to interview you guys. You will be sitting behind the Mayor and the Town Secretary." At this, he puffed himself up proudly. "Let's just say we'll be taking care of those Capitol princesses District 12 style if they come snooping around."

Haymitch chuckled. "Seems we got us some bodyguards."

I groaned. "Won't that just call more attention to us."

Thom perked up. "No, nothing like that. We just have a couple of people who are willing to keep people from getting too close to you.

"Bodyguards." I said derisively.

"No, just we coal mining folks sticking together." Thom said with seriousness. "Capitol is always Capitol."

I don't know how to feel about that sentiment. Given the war, it seemed natural for citizens to feel a particular attachment to their districts, now that they were free to do so.

"What are the poles, Thom?" asked Peeta after a moment.

"Oh, those are part of the memorial. They were installed this week. They've been real secretive about it, though so I don't know what it all means."

Peeta nodded his head. The heat of the day was waning a bit now that it was late afternoon but I still felt the sun on me. Peeta was wearing a simple light blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows which could not compete with the brilliant blue of his eyes. He wore a pair of khaki cotton fitted pants. We hadn't intended our outfits to match but I got a small, irrational thrill from it. I had combed his hair, parting it on the side and taming the waves in his hair to give him a schoolboy style that made him look so young and innocent. He impressed me with how handsome he could be without trying. Even so, a thin sheen of sweat seemed to cover his neck and I longed for the cool of the evening.

When we arrived in the square, there was no way to ignore the stares of the other townspeople. In his life before the war, Peeta and his family were well known so several people came to greet us. They were gentle with me, no doubt because of my status as lunatic ex-rebellion symbol but instead of grating on my nerves, I was grateful for their diffidence. It made the experience of so much attention tolerable. The new mayor, Oakley Greenfield, introduced himself gently to us, giving us condolences and good wishes in an even, unsentimental tone that endeared me to him right away. Thom and his brother, Glen, hovered nearby, making me feel like a Capitol diva but when we took our seats, I realized it had not as terrible as I thought it would be. Peeta gratefully kissed me on the cheek.

The light was finally such that the screens were discernible. Flashing one by one were the pictures of all the tributes sent into the arena, their birth and death dates underneath their names. The montage had been playing for some time so when we sat, I knew I would not be able to avoid seeing myself, Peeta, Prim or Haymitch, the tributes most recent to the war. Haymitch was riveted by the display. He had known so many of the tributes and I could sense the effort he made to resist pulling out his flask and taking a drink from it. I turned to Peeta and put my head in his chest. I did not want to watch her face flash and disappear, like her short little life.

"I'll tell you when it's done." whispered Peeta, as if he had read my mind.

I nodded into his shoulder and, after several minutes, he brought his hand up to my head to indicate it was safe to look up. The screen went dark as everyone was invited to take a seat or occupy the standing room around the square. It was quite full, even though there were a fraction of the residents that lived in District 12 before the war. Looking around, I could see the press corps with their cameras and lights just under the stage and at the back of the crowd. I tried to shrink into the chair or disappear into Peeta's side to not call attention to myself, though it seemed all eyes were on me this evening.

The ceremony began with a salute to the new flag of Panem. Peeta and I must have really been out of it because I had never seen this new flag. It was made of a deep green with a gold circle in the middle surrounded by 14 stars. But the most remarkable thing was the Mockingjay in the center, no longer on fire but ablaze with the same color of gold as the stars and circle on the flag. I wanted to groan at the sheer predictability of it. Couldn't they come up with any other symbol, maybe one that did not involve me in any way? My generosity toward the ceremonies began to dry up and I became morose at the prospect of never being able to live anonymously again. There was the new anthem and then Mayor Greenfield took the stage. Already the sun was beginning to drop quietly behind the Justice Building, bathing the whole company in that light that would always remind me of Peeta.

_"__We are an old District. We have mined these mountains for hundreds of years. Anyone born here knows that there is so much coal dust in these parts, our children are practically born covered in it. While we have always been considered the poorest of districts, we have always had pride in the persistence of our ways, the durability of our character. We are a district with a long memory._

_"__That is why on this day, this day that brought so much dread and grief to generations of families, on this day, I am hopeful, even optimistic. Because it is not in the nature of our district to forget. And that is what is needed, more than pretty ceremonies and stone statues. What is needed is the unwavering reliability of our collective memory. And not just to remember in silence. Although words do pale, yet we must speak. We must strive to understand. We must teach the lessons of the Reaping, of our oppression. And most of all, we ourselves must remember. We must learn not only about the vulnerability of life, but of the precious value of human life. We must remember the terrible price paid not just for entitlement but also the terrible price paid for passivity and silence._

_"__To truly commemorate the children we have lost, in one way or another, over the last 75 years, we must harness the outrage of our memories to banish all human oppression from the world. We must recognize that when any fellow human being is stripped of humanity, when any person is turned into an object of repression, when children are stolen from their families; tortured, defiled or victimized by totalitarianism or bigotry, then all human beings are victims, too. Our race's inability to see the value of our own lives, the lives of our children, has allowed us time and again to oppress one another in ways both great and small. The history books of the old world, the world in which Panem was known as North America, speak of instance after instance of humanity's ability to marginalize, isolate, hate and destroy. And it is up to every generation who survives these violations to never forget the lessons learned. Our generation-the generation of survivors—can never permit these lessons to be forgotten, especially when the worst violations are visited on our children. A population that cannot protect the weakest members of its society is not destined to last very long. _

_"__We in this District are the kind of people who remember. _

_"__In honor of the 154 souls sacrificed to the cruelties of the annual Hunger Games, our district dedicates to them the symbol of our survival."_

At this, the canvas's fell off of the poles, as if pulled off by a collective agreement amongst themselves. They were lamps. Not just the poor lanterns that could be found even in the most dismal house in the Seam. They were elegant lamps with large bulbs shaped into what seemed like large asymmetrical teardrops, held in place by iron latticework. I was puzzled. While I was trying to figure out the significance, the giant canvass in the middle of the square also fell away.

The same asymmetrical teardrops on top of the poles were duplicated in the middle of the plaza but with more intricacy. It was then I understood the shapes on the poles – they were meant to replicate the shape of a small flame, like a candle. The larger structure was at least 15 feet tall and seemed to be made of a tinted glass. It was not one candle flame but seemed more like a conflagration of several flames reaching up to the sky. What I thought was a fountain before was actually a metal base with writing spiraled around the bottom.

_"__So that the flames extinguished every year for 75 long years will never be forgotten, we dedicate the Way of Eternal Fire to our children of the Hunger Games. A flame for each tribute offered in sacrifice. The flames that burn for them also burn as an admonishment from here to all future generations to never forget what was lost here, until time immemorial."_

The screens came alive to show an aerial view of the center. I heard the vibration first before all the farthest lamps began to light up at the same time. As each lamp on each spoke of the wheel lit up in parallel, they lit with greater speed, a flame racing across an invisible thread as each lamp lit in turn, one after the other. It looked like the center was on fire again, the terror and beauty of it seizing me until the last lamps closest to the structure lit up, setting it also alight. The flame began from the bottom and spread throughout the structure until it glowed with an inner light, fire that called to mind the spark that every person carries inside of them.

Peeta was transfixed by the spectacle. "Amazing." He whispered.

Haymitch, also moved, commented "They took the Capitol's symbol for this district, for us and turned it on its head, making it their own. That's pretty rebellious"

"It's beautiful." I sighed. The crowds were silent except for the occasional sob of some poor, left-behind soul. The speech now ended, people quietly moved towards the statue. Peeta and Haymitch rose also, waiting for me. I followed, my eyes curious to read the writing that wound around the base. As I drew closer, I realized the names of each tribute were inscribed in rows that circled the entire structure, the oldest ones closest to the statue, the most recent ones spiraling in the outermost circle. There they were: Primrose Everdeen v. Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy v. Peeta Mellark. All 154 names were at the foot of this delicate creation which seemed to pulse with the force of all of us. 154 lamps to feed the flames. As I looked around, I could see older people, parents no doubt, gently running their fingers over the names of children long stolen, some crying, some stone-faced and contemplative. There were in some places siblings, cousins, aunts, friends, all eager to touch the last mortal remnant of their beloved ones.

I felt a hand at my elbow and looked to see Greasy Sae, tears streaming down her aged face. She shook her head and I gave into a rare impulse and hugged her to me.

"Thought I'd never see this day." She drew her eyes up to me, eyes that had seen more pain than should be contained in a lifetime. "They didn't say it, knew you wouldn't want it, but thank you. Thank him." She indicated Peeta with her head. She pulled away at this, drawing herself up against the embarrassing emotions. District 12 people were not given to great displays of emotions but I thought of all the meals she fed me, never missing a day when I was just a pile of flesh, letting me be when I needed to just be. As she walked away, I touched her and quietly said, "No, thank you." She gripped my hand fiercely before letting it drop. She then nodded and continued her way around the statue.

I sought out Peeta and took his hand, overwhelmed by how close I had come to losing him over and over again. How I could have turned into a shriveled person at the foot of this monument, caressing his name as if it were the fair skin I touch now. It was the first time I had felt that elusive feeling of gratitude, not towards him but towards those oft-cursed forces of the universe who, after having toyed with me for so long, decided that my reward would be the kindest, gentlest, most decent person to walk this wicked planet. I leaned into him while he studied, with his artist's eye, the design of the monument.

Lost in our admiration, we did not notice the approach of a stylishly dressed man from across the plaza. When I became aware of him, something about his air screamed Capitol and I felt my hairs stand on end. His suit was silver colored, with a bold pink necktie and a matching pair of pink pointy dress shoes. Even Peeta could not have made that outfit look good. He put his hand out to Peeta and introduced himself. "My name is Fabian Andronichus. Sorry to interrupt you but this must be a big moment for the both of you."

Peeta eyed him warily before answering. "It's important for everyone." Normally talkative and open, he hesitated to speak to this over-dressed man. Even without the face paint and tatoos, he still exuded the air of high maintenance. I looked from his manicured nails to the light brown hair perched in such frozen splendor, even a strong wind would have trouble dislodging a curl from it.

"It is very uplifting to see you both out and about after so many months in seclusion. I wonder if you would have a moment to talk a little bit about your reaction to today's events."

I had been shrinking into Peeta's side, trying to make myself as small as possible. He had the same air as Ceasar Flickaman – that self-conscious effort to ingratiate himself with his victims before moving in for the intimate expose.

"We don't really want to talk about it at this time." Peeta said this as he began to move us away. But this Fabian would not be pacified and followed closely.

"Certainly, you can appreciate how gratifying it would be for the citizens of Panem to see the Mockingjay so engaged in the rebuilding of the nation's morale. Just a few questions would be enough."

"He said no!" I shouted, causing heads to turn towards us.

"Ms. Everdeen, please, think about the people of Panem…"

I began to drag Peeta behind me, trying in every way to escape the snare of his intrusion, blocked by the crowd. My breath became short and quick, my ability to focus on anything starting to dissolve. I felt trapped, like I'd felt in those awful days when I was just a tool for the powers beyond me. I felt Peeta's arm around me, roughly making a path through the attendees, pushing me towards the edge of the square. Up ahead was another group of cameramen. When they caught sight of us, I saw the monstrous lenses turn towards us. There was no escape and soon I would be a crumpled ball of inertia on the ground. My desperation caused me to stumble.

I saw Thom and Glen walk quickly towards us. Flanking either side of us, they shoved the cameras away and brought us around the back of the Justice Building. When Andronichus appeared behind us, Thom stood between us and soundly sent him on his way with a credible threat of physical violence. At this point, I was in the throes of a full-blown panic attack. I bent down, leaning on my knees, letting my head hang in an effort to still my breathing.

"I think we're ready to go." Said Peeta, his hand rubbing my back, trying to soothe me.

Thom nodded. "Glen will let Haymitch know." He nodded at his brother, who walked briskly back towards the statue. "I'll walk you out of town. I'm really sorry. I saw that dog coming at you but I just couldn't get through the crowd."

"It's okay, Thom. At least we're out of there now." Peeta said, helping me straighten up now that I had regained some semblance of normal breathing.

"I'm fine." I waved them away. I would be embarrassed tomorrow but right now, I just wanted to go home.

We walked without further incident back to the entrance of Victor's Village. We thanked Thom as he turned to go back to the center. As soon as we entered the home, I ran upstairs directly. I took off my clothes as I walked into the room, casting them about as I made my way to the bathroom. Once there, I ran a hot shower, activating both jets. I let the hot water pound my tense muscles. The ceremony wasn't as terrible as I expected, though I had moments of real depression, listening to the speech. Humanity had been through these atrocities repeatedly and never seemed to learn from their mistakes. Why should we have such certainty? How could I be sure that something as terrible as the Capitol would not come back to take our children away? It strengthened my resolve to never have children.

But then I remembered the look Peeta had on his face when he learned of Finnick's son. If there was ever a person in the world who should be a parent, it was Peeta. How fair was it for me to keep him near me if I couldn't give him this? Yet I couldn't imagine not having him near.

I slumped onto the shower's ledge. I couldn't believe the turn my mind had taken. The thought of having children when we were in this limbo between friendship and something else was an absurdity. It was certainly not taking things a day at a time, as I had told my mother. But if I were to have children, I could only imagine having them with Peeta. Somehow, this revelation overshadowed everything else I had been thinking about.

My breathing started to speed up again. My mind was on overload between the ceremony and this line of thinking. I shut off the water, drying my hair with the automatic blower, brushing it out until the strands were luminous and fell over me, long enough to cover my nipples. I reapplied my burn cream, then reached for the cream my prep team left so many months ago. I opened the jar and smelled the contents, a unique combination of earthiness and flowers. I smoothed this cream over my "good skin", all the while trying to still my racing thoughts.

Stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in a bath towel, I saw a shirtless Peeta. Sensing me, he turned his head and gave me a sheepish look. His nakedness sent all of my thoughts to the winds and I simply stood dumbly staring at him.

"I thought it would be worse." He said simply.

"It was going okay until the hair attacked us." I said wryly.

Peeta chuckled at this. "His hair did look like it was glued to his head." His eyes swept over me, still damp from my bath and flitted away. He turned his back to me and gathered up his sleep clothes to go to the bathroom. "You can dress here. I'll go in the bathroom."

He walked to bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Distractedly, I rummaged in my drawer for my pajama shorts and shirt.

I thought of the flames of this evening, all the roles that fire had played in my life. Girl on Fire, firebombing of District 12, the catching fire that had turned me into the Mockingjay, the fire in the Capitol. I would undo all that scorching heat, each lick of flame except for one. The fire that set all others to shame, the fire that fed and sustained me, making me cling to a life I would have otherwise thrown away. The slow burn that I carried every day, that made the sun recede in deference to its intensity.

I burned for Peeta.

**Okay, if you didn't catch that, there are some serious lemons in the next chapter. If you are below the age of 18 (you know who you are), go read something else for a little while cause there's some serious stuff going down that will make your eyes fall out of your little heads. For the rest of you, please review! I want to know what you thought of this chapter. Thanks for sticking with this!**


	12. Chapter 12

**HR FanFic Rec: Burned by OddCoupler222 – Catching Fire from Peeta's POV. The description of him putting together the locket that he gives Katniss on the beach during the Quarter Quell is excellent.**

**If you have any ideas for excellent FanFic Recs, let me know. I love nothing better than a good HG tale and I'm sure I'm overlooking some excellent stories.**

**Alert: There are &lemons& in this chapter so if you are below the age of 18, go away for a few chapters.**

**Thank you, TiffOdair, for keeping up with me. **

**Chapter 12: Start at the beginning**

Looking down at my pajama shirt, I became irritated with myself. Why hadn't I thought to bring something more interesting from my house when I packed my duffle bag? I went back to my clothes and found a tank top and a pair of more fitted sleep shorts that were more flattering than the baggy ones I was wearing. My heart pounded in my chest. I heard the shower go on and imagined Peeta under the jet, the water running through his hair, so hard to tame, over his face, droplets clinging to the cleft of his chin and dripping onto the light smattering of curls on his chest. There were some rivulets running along the seams of his scars, flowing over his flat belly and down lower…

I was working myself up and tried to calm down, running my hands through my hair. The bedroom light was so obnoxiously bright that I shut if off before remembering that I had turned no other light on and was reduced to banging around the room in the dark until I located a small lamp on the mirrored bureau that cast a more forgiving light. I unfolded the covers and lay down on the bed. I pulled the bed sheet up, then pushed it down, then pulled it up again. I tried lying in what I thought was a provocative pose, arms over my head, legs to the side, then brought my arms down and straightened my legs. I banged my head against the pillow in frustration – I just wasn't good at sexy. I remembered the girls in grade school nattering on about boys, seemingly in control of the whole seduction process – twirling strands of hair around their fingers, sashaying when the boys were present. I never paid any attention to these conversations and now I was kicking myself for my superior indifference.

I heard the water shut off and felt myself go rigid, my stomach turning to stone. I remembered a conversation with Cinna during the first games, when I fretted about making sponsors like me.

_"__You made me like you" he said gently._

_"__That's because I wasn't trying" I said petulantly_

_'__That's it. Just be yourself." He reassured me._

Oh, Cinna, where do I start?

A small clattering in the bathroom followed by the click of the turning doorknob let me know that my time for provocative was over and I would be reduced to being my cranky, surly, unsure self. When Peeta stepped into the bedroom, he left his folded clothes on a chair and padded over to the bed. He released his prosthetic with a gentle hiss of the withdrawing closures, rubbing his leg gently before shuffling under the blanket. I was so nervous, I was sure I would throw up on him and ruin everything.

Turning towards me, he gently pulled me in, my slight frame so easy to for his strong arms to maneuver. He kissed my face and snuggled into my hair, taking a deep breath.

"Wow, you smell nice." He said.

"So how do I smell every other time?" I asked, trying to lighten my mood.

"Like summer." He said simply.

We lapsed into silence. I tried to relax into his arms, but his touch made every inch of my skin contract into tiny goose bumps. I could hear the rushing of blood in my ears and was sure my pounding heart could be heard across the room. After a moment, Peeta lifted his head up and looked at me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine." I barely croaked out.

He took my face and turned it towards him, his eyes searching my face. "Katniss, if you are worried about that journalist, don't be. I don't think he'll be coming back around…"

"He was the farthest thing from my mind." I muttered.

"Then?" probed Peeta further. "What's on your mind?"

I took a long moment before mustering the courage to answer him. "You."

He seemed taken aback for a moment. "Me? What about me?"

I looked at him, his face so close to me I could feel his breath on me. I shook my head and reached my hand up to the back of his head, pulling him down to place a kiss on his lips.

Peeta froze. "Katniss, what's going on?"

I shifted my body so that I was closer to him, my chest against his, my hips flush with his. I tried again, pulling him down to me, placing a more insistent kiss against his lips. He returned the kiss gently but still hesitated.

I was undone by my need for him. "Please Peeta, don't make me beg." I moaned.

He looked at me as if he were carefully weighing something. I took my finger and traced the ridges of his ear, running down over the soft lobe, repeating the action while I waited. There was no good reason but I just knew I needed to wait for him. His head dipped, as if taking on a resolve and when he straightened, searched my face. He lowered his head and kissed me so gently, I thought I had dreamed the kiss. It was as if it were our first kiss all over again. I was never a patient, measured girl but Peeta slowed me down, made me want to wait. He let out a ragged breath, dropping his head onto my chest, and breathing deeply for a long moment.

"I've been dreaming of you in this way since I was 12. I've made love to you a thousand different ways in my head" my insides clenched at this "and now that I have you, I don't know where to start."

"Just start from the beginning. That's where everything starts." I whispered. "My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 18 years old. I'm from District 12. I was reaped twice for the Hunger Games. District 12 was destroyed. I was the Mockingjay. I lost my sister, Primrose Everdeen. My mother won't come back and I lost my hunting partner. I lost my mind. I live in District 12 now. I 'm in love with Peeta Mellark. He completes me." I lapsed into silence, waiting.

Peeta mouth went slack, his breathing picking up again. "I, uh, I'm Peeta Mellark. I'm 18 years old. I'm also from District 12. I've loved Katniss Everdeen since I was 5. I was reaped twice for the Hunger Games. District 12 was destroyed. My entire family was killed. I was captured by the Capitol and hijacked. I was programmed to kill Katniss Everdeen. I lost my mind. I live in District 12 now. I love Katniss Everdeen. I'll always love Katniss Everdeen."

I gave him a small smile and pulled him down to return his perfect kiss. Not losing another moment to doubt, Peeta pulled me close to him, slowly kissing my face, my nose and eyes, the way I had done so many times when he was in the middle of his terrors. When his lips returned to mine, he increased the intensity, his tongue pushing through my willing lips, moving it in that way that made me light-headed. I rose to meet him and drank in the perfect taste of him. I arched against him, trying to close the space between us, those little sounds that embarrassed me before coming out of their own volition. My hands ran over his back to the edge of his shirt and clumsily pulled it off. He seemed to be unstable and put his hand up. "Just, give me a minute." He said as he turned to sit up on the bed and refasten his prosthetic.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Peeta finished attaching his leg and turned back to me, his hands roaming my body as he spoke. "I'll need my leg for what I want to do."

I made a silent "O" with my mouth before sitting up to kiss him again, running my tongue over the space in his cleft chin. I gently moved his head to the side so I could have access to his neck and, finding the scars, ran my tongue gently over the seam between his normal skin and his scarred skin. Peeta shivered as I continued to follow his scars down his shoulder, slowing down to savor the skin on his biceps. I would take each and every one of these scars and make them my own.

The path of damaged skin led to his hand, which I kissed hotly until I got to his fingers. I turned his hand over to press a kiss into his palm. I could smell the sugar and vanilla on them and, seized by the urge to possess him, took his forefinger into my mouth and gently sucked on it, nipping at the pads of his fingertips. His sharp intake of breath was my reward and I could feel his other hand running along my leg. I did the same to each of his fingers before dropping them gently and putting my lips at the hollow of his neck and letting my mouth have their play with his chest, following the tongues of fire here also. When one of the licks of flame ended near his nipple, I licked it before sucking it gently. I wasn't sure what Peeta liked but his reactions gave me confidence so I did the same with his other nipple.

His hands were no longer feathery light but insistent. He brought his head down to kiss me, his roaming hands under my tank-top, running over my skin, making every muscle clench with his need for me. I let him pull it off and sat still, letting him take in the sight of me. I started to feel self-conscious about my own scars and wanted to cover my breasts again but his hands made that impossible.

"You are so beautiful." he whispered. I put my fingers up to play with his bottom lip and he caught it in his mouth, sucking on it as I had done to him, sending needles up my spine.

He began at my shoulder and slid his hand down my sides and over my stomach. He ran the back of his hand over the middle of my chest and paused, pushing me down on to my back.

He tugged at the shorts I was wearing and flung them away, the only thing I was wearing now were my underwear. He settled himself between my bent legs and ran his hands over my thighs and calves, reverently. His hands rode slowly back up my legs, across the smooth skin of my hip bones and hesitated as they moved up my stomach, stopping just under my ribcage. He was almost paralyzed with shyness. To relieve him, I took both of his hands and placed them on the fullness of my breasts, letting out a gasp of pleasure. I could never have imagined the current of electricity that exploded from the warmth of his palms, through my skin, to every extremity of my body. It was so good, I pushed up into his hands, encouraging him to play. He squeezed them gently, teasing out the nipples with his hands, tentatively as if he would hurt me.

Soon his lips followed, lapping at the skin of one breast as he continued to toy with the other one, sucking gently on the nipple. I began to squirm with an unspeakable need and something began to hum in the deepest part of my body. I let out a long moan of pleasure and pulled Peeta's head closer to my breasts, begging him to keep doing what he was doing. I wanted to race ahead to something but I wasn't sure where. He changed breasts and I almost couldn't endure the explorations of his hands and mouth on them. He was more insistent, having gained in confidence and ardor, sucking harder, taking as much of my mounds as would fit in his mouth. The throbbing between my legs became distracting and painful.

He pulled up and kissed me fervently on my lips. This was not my gentle Peeta who met me but a force unleashed that would devour me and leave only ashes. I ran my hands over his body and gripped his waist, pulling him down onto me, wrapping my legs about him to feel him grind into me. His kissing became bruising, his one hand on my breast squeezing hard and I was delirious from the brute sensation. He pulled back to tear off my underwear, pausing to inhale me before casting them aside and feasted his eyes on me again. He was feral, his chest heaving as he ran his hands over me, his fingers gently touching me _there_. He swallowed hard and whispered "So wet..." before gently pushing one finger inside, all the while watching me, his eyes going black with desire. In all my days of hunting, I could not have had a more savage look about me then the one he gave me at that moment. I balled the blankets into my hands from the sensation of something so intimate. His eyes watching me while his slipped a second finger inside of me. The feeling was exquisite but I felt so vulnerable this way. It was too much for me. I squeezed my legs around his hand from the embarrassment.

He gently withdrew his fingers from me and eased my legs open. I trembled with anticipation and not a little bit of fear. He removed his shorts, awkwardly because of the prosthetic and his arousal leapt out of its confines, his passion rendered primitive by its undeniability.

I shivered and whimpered, my need becoming unbearable and stretched my arms out to him, begging him. "Peeta, please" I moaned. He crawled over me and hovered, bringing his head down to crush my lips in his. I could feel him press himself against the very center of me and he gasped, letting out a long groan as he began to grind into me. Without clothing, the sensation curled my toes. There were spots when he rubbed that felt more incredible than others and I was becoming more unhinged. Peeta kissed me so savagely, my lips were becoming sore but it felt so right, I didn't want him to stop.

At some point, his fumbling became prodding as he tried to enter me. He momentarily returned to himself, kissing me on my cheek and neck and whispering "Help me." It took a bit of doing and I did my best to guide him until I could feel him enter me. I was caught by surprise by the sense of fullness, feeling almost too stretched to be comfortable, the sound of my shock so loud, he almost deflated.

He pulled away instantaneously. "Did I hurt you?"

"It's okay, Peeta. Come back." Peeta breathed raggedly, trying to enter me more slowly this time. I felt the pinching right away and bit my lip to keep from crying out again. My entire body tensed against the pain, making him stop again. "Katniss, we can stop. I don't want to hurt you."

I shook my head, and, taking a deep breath, arched up to meet him, pushing through the burning pain. Letting my hips fall back, I thrust against him, pulling his hips down to bury him inside of me. I let out a long moan, and panted. Peeta watched me carefully, brushing the moist hair from my forehead, waiting for me to be ready for him again. He gave me a long, lingering kiss, running kisses along my neck. Pulling back to look at me, he whispered, "I promise I'll make it good for you."

I didn't know if he was just referring to this or to everything but whatever it was I believed him because he had already made it good. I relaxed my body and pulled him in to me. The soreness and burning were still there but there was also another feeling underneath that made me gasp with pleasure. Peeta began to slowly rock into me, a low growl in his throat. "You feel so good." He hissed. I raised my hips, the effort to find a rhythm a bit clumsy but soon I was bucking against him, at first slowly, abandoning myself to the feel of him entering and pulling back. I brought my arms around to his back and pulled him to me, kissing him before letting him find leverage with his arms, his movement increasing. A look of frustration came over his face and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to last very long."

I simply nodded, my whole being focused on him inside of me. I started to feel a coiling in my belly, the intensity I felt before the pain of his entry returning slowly to me. I started to moan with pleasure especially when he took my nipple in his mouth and began sucking on it. The feeling seemed connected to the coil in my belly and I begged him to keep doing what he was doing. He started to pant loudly against my breast, twisting the bed sheets in his hands. His sweat dripped onto me and I, reveling in it so much, ran my hand over my breast to cover them in it. His eyes took on a mad look at this and he attacked my mouth again. I ran one hand through his hair, gripping his curls while the other hand grasped his buttock, pulling him into me, the momentum inside of me building. I was becoming undone, my breaths loud and heavy, calling out his name wildly. During one of my shouts, he covered my mouth with his and kissed me roughly. When he bit my shoulder, his motion becoming frantic, the coil in my belly snapped and my body arched of its own volition. He watched me intently as I half-shouted, half-moaned his name into the air, everything below my waist beginning to contract violently. The whole world melted away, every muscle began to tremble. This was all too much for Peeta, who finally became unwound, face twisted in a kind of agony, a sound like a wild animal leaving his lips as I felt him tense inside of me and then explode, a deep warmth spreading throughout my lower abdomen. He rocked into me few more times until the waves were spent.

Peeta carefully shifted us, still locked inside of me, so that we were both turned towards each other, panting and entangled in each other's limbs until he withdrew naturally from me. I could feel the moisture spread over our legs and onto the bedclothes but we just held onto each other, unconcerned with it all. I marveled at having been lost in him for such an amazing moment. We simply lay in each other's arms, caressing each other languidly. I didn't remember a time when I had felt so fulfilled, so utterly at peace with the universe. Peeta tilted his head down gently and whispered into my ear "You love me, real or not?"

I ran my hand across his cheek and whispered "Real."

**XXXXX**

I remained in a state of semi-wakefulness, playing with the hairs on his chest, so sated that I felt murderous when Peeta gently got up from the bed. I could imagine myself growling with the inconvenience of it until I realized that he had gone for a warm, wet towel. I was thankful, as I was beginning to mind the stickiness that seemed all around me. Without temerity, he carefully and intimately cleaned me, wiping my legs and stomach, preparing to hand the towel to me when a look of horror crossed his face.

"Katniss, I hurt you!"

I looked at the spot on which he had fixated his horrors, his face pale from fear. I had to admit it was a lot more blood than I anticipated. I thought for sure after all of the exertions of hunting, the Games and the war, I would have nothing left to lose. Still, it was nothing compared to the buckets we had shed in the arena.

I was embarrassed but felt I should explain. "Peeta, that's normal when a woman loses her virginity." I hadn't given my virginity a second thought. My mother, being a healer and dealing with every manner of human complication had, through her patient treatments, demystified the entire reproductive process, including the rupturing of the hymen when a girl first had sex. However, Peeta surprised me with his reaction.

"I know why you were bleeding. It's just…" he was frozen in place, considering for a moment. "I'm your first?"

"Peeta!" His name exploded out of my mouth with the shock of what he said. I sat up, pulling my legs to me and wrapping myself in a blanket.

At this point, Peeta began to move. "No, don't misunderstand me! It wouldn't have ever mattered to me either way. It's just, well…" he became uncomfortable, "…I thought maybe all of those years, hunting with Gale, maybe something…" he stammered in his embarrassment. I felt my temper flare but drew it under control. I would not lose this night to my indiscriminant temper. I lowered my legs and chose a conciliatory track, crawling to the edge of the bed to draw near to him.

"Peeta, Gale kissed me one time before the Quarter Quell and one time in District 13. That's it."

Peeta froze, looking puzzled at me. "District 13? When?" The way he looked at me made something curl in my stomach.

"It was after your rescue, when I thought you were beyond help. He kissed me. It was a moment. Nothing more." I whispered.

He seemed to deflate at this and just stare at me.

Wanting to recover the feeling we had, I reached up to him. He was like a stone statue and my stomach shriveled further.

"Peeta, he kissed me and said to me it was like kissing a drunk. My heart wasn't in it. Please, don't look at me like that."

He shook his head slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I…I just…I need a minute, okay?" He began to gather his clothes and dress himself.

"Peeta, please, don't do this. It was never like that between us. When I kissed you in the cave, on the beach – I never felt that way with him. Ever. I've never felt that way about anyone but you." I was coming undone again, shaking with fear. I would lose him this time and the realization made me slightly insane.

"I'm going to take a walk. I need to think." He said somberly. He began to walk out the door.

"Peeta!" I screamed, not caring if all of District 12 heard me. The tears began to run unchecked down my face. "Please, I love you, don't go!"

He paused at the door, seeming conflicted, almost half-turning.

"I thought it destroyed you when I was hijacked. I thought you couldn't take it." He visibly stopped himself from speaking any further. Just when I thought he might relent and stay, he straightened up and walked out the door. I heard his characteristic heavy tread move down the stairs. A moment later, the front door clicked closed behind him.

I sank, naked and defeated onto the bed. I slowly dragged a pillow over to me, hugging it fiercely. As the panic rose in my chest, I began to rock back and forth. My breath burst out of me, making it impossible to take in air. It was then that I bit into the pillow to muffle my screams.

**I appreciate every one of your reviews. They really motivate me to write faster! So don't be shy…**


	13. Chapter 13

**First of all, wow! I did not expect the reaction that I got to Chapter 12. I never got so many reviews and some of you were not happy. It was a rough ending to write but I promise there is a method to my madness. Maybe Peeta and I will redeem ourselves yet. **

**HG FanFic Rec: Synchronicity by Everlark Pearl. You may have to go to AO3 to find it but it is worth the search.**

**TiffOdair, you rock to the end of the world.**

**This chapter is in Peeta's POV. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 13 – Not Real (Peeta's POV) **

I couldn't get out of that house fast enough. Even so, my vision had gone almost black by the time I stumbled onto Haymitch's porch, losing control of my muscles on the way. There weren't many places for me to go in District 12. _Everyone was dead, dead, dead._ I shook my head, the pounding headache swooping in, its throbbing matching the drumming of my heart as the venom began to work its black magic again. I could feel the familiar fear and rage building up in me, threatening to overflow the weak boundary of my skin and ooze like black tar into the already blackened night. But I had the joy of adding another emotion to the toxic mix I carried in my head.

Jealousy.

I could still taste her in my mouth; feel her strong legs around my waist. I see her open to me, wet and begging for me. The sound of my name on her lips was the most intoxicating sound I had ever heard in my life and when she coupled my name with a plea, I could have come right then and there. I could still feel myself buried inside of her and my anger redoubled. I balled my fists and brought them to my eyes as I saw him in my head. Even that offered no relief since I could still smell her on my hands.

I knew if I didn't leave, I would melt down in front of her and this time I could feel that I would hurt her. I knew which visions could go too far. Maybe I had already gone too far, without putting a hand on her.

I dragged myself to Haymitch's door and, without knocking, pushed my way inside. Haymitch was at his round table, overflowing with bottles of the white liquor he loved so much. One look at me and he understood what was happening. Hadn't he seen me so many times, becoming unraveled, becoming a mutt? A filthy Capitol Mutt?

_No, she's the mutt. She's a stinking firemutt and she killed my family._

I stood in the middle of the hall, eyes closed, attempting to reconnect to myself again. The alternate world where everything was vile and hopeless was trying to push through the edges of my vision. I willed my legs (one of them, anyway)to move me to the sofa so that at least I wouldn't crash to the ground when the tremors came on. Haymitch was soon next to me and, while his hand on my arm made me twitch, it also kept me grounded to this world, this world where I lived, where I had just made love to the girl of my dreams and wanted her again, would take her again, as many times as I could because she was that delicious, that sweet.

_Bitch._

I shook my head, not wanting to play out this script, wanting so badly to get back to her, to bury myself in her, to watch her come while I stroked her. The next time I had her, I would taste her. I could feel myself getting hard at the thought of it.

But the visions were not willing to give up that quickly. Soon, it was her - naked, her olive skin so luminous, calling for me to caress it. Her hair was loose, the breasts rigid with desire. She was doing things to herself that I had not learned to do yet. But I would. I would. I wanted to reach out in my vision and pull her to me. _But she wasn't even aware that I was here._ Of course not. I can't be here. _This isn't real. Not real, not real, not real..._

I felt myself pulling away from the vision when I saw Gale, his tall, imposing figure, his perpetual scowl, staring down at Katniss, _my Katniss_. I needed to get out of here, needed to get back to Haymitch's living room and back to Katniss but at the same time, I needed to get him away from her. _She's mine now_.

_This isn't real. Not real, not real, not real…_

He began to walk towards her, her body writhing under his gaze, the show not for me but for him. I felt myself lunging towards him, my hands outstretched but I was incorporeal and there was nothing with which to touch him. The rational part of my mind screamed at me, begging me: G_et out; you don't want to see this_. When the Gale-phantom began removing his clothes, I began to scream again: _Get away from her! You had your chance!_

_Not real!_

I felt hands on me and focused as hard as I could on them, trying to get out of this. Gale walked closer to Katniss but I mentally turned away. As he closed in on her, I pulled with every fiber of my being, focusing on the fingers on my arms, squeezing, hurting me. Good, pain is good. _At least I won't have to stay here anymore. I don't have to see this. She's mine, mine._

_No, she's not. She belongs to him. Two Capitol mutts._

As my vision brightened, I felt myself collapse, the first signs that I had returned to this world was my face crashing into the floor, a lancing pain in my forehead, a pain I clung to. Haymitch was kneeling next to me, a bruise welling up on his chin. I did that. There was no question about it. I had a selfish thought – _Better him than her._ It was the last thought I had before I blacked out.

**XXXXX**

When I woke again, the light from the window was shining directly onto my face. For a minute, I could not remember where I was. In my momentary confusion, I instinctively reached over, expecting to feel her laying next me, breathing deeply in her sleep. After last night, she would be tired and I would wait for her to wake up before losing myself in her again. However, instead of Katniss's warm body, I felt a roughness that made my eyes fly open. I wasn't in my bed but on Haymitch's sofa. He sat in an armchair, snoring noisily, his left leg sprawled over one of the arms, a hand hanging down to the floor. I slowly sat up, feeling achy and bruised. The thump of my prosthetic as I swung my legs to the ground made him jump with a start.

Haymitch stretched, yawning so widely that I was nearly overcome by the burst of liquor breath from him. Gagging, I shifted to the farthest corner of the couch to get away from the stink cloud.

"So, loverboy awakes. That was quite a show you gave last night." He mumbled grumpily.

Nodding towards his swollen chin, I asked "Did I do that?"

He smirked at me. "No, I love clocking myself on the jaw. It's how I keep the spice in my life."

"Sorry." I said sincerely.

He waved this away. "Who were you screaming at?"

The events of yesterday rushed back to me, making me leap to my feet.

"Katniss! I have to go." I stumbled towards the door, tripping on some of the abundant detritus that was lying on the floor.

"Well, don't mind me. You just come over, flip out, slap me around and then leave. You didn't even have a cigarette with me this time. I feel so used." Haymitch chuckled luridly at his own joke.

His joke made me stiffen. Isn't that what she's going to think? That I used her? Would she know that last night was the most perfect night of my life? That it was more than I expected to ever have from her? My heart began pounding even harder as I raced across the green. I hoped against hope that she would understand.

Bursting through the house, I ran as fast as my bum leg would let me, racing into the room. The fresh morning air was pushing through the sheer curtains of the open window, the room suffused in the bright gold of day. When I looked to the bed, it was empty, the pillows askew and bedclothes twisted here and there. I walked over to see the evidence of our night together matting the sheets together and a lonely sadness fell over me. How long had I been unconscious? I looked at the mantle and blanched. It was mid-morning. I groaned at the awfulness of it. I couldn't help myself and went to the bathroom, but it was empty. I searched every room, upstairs and downstairs and found no evidence of her. Looking at the mantle in the living room, I saw that her books were gone. A terror gripped me as I went back upstairs and looked in the closet. Her side was empty. That is when I noticed the half-opened drawers in my dresser and saw that they, too, were empty. Everything empty. She'd taken her things and left a rumpled bed and the smell of her in the air to keep me company.

I ran my hand through my head and sat on the edge of the bed. It was then I began to feel the ache in my leg. I had had this prosthetic on too long and the good part of my leg was starting to protest. I welcomed it. I began to bang my prosthetic on the ground, hoping for more pain. I didn't even try to stop myself from crying. I had her here, in my hand, the fulfillment of every dream I had ever had and that one moment of jealousy unleashed the sleeping beast in me and destroyed everything. I never hated the Capitol more than at that moment. I never understood real self-hatred until that moment.

After a bit of this, I wiped my face with one of the sheets, catching her intense smell. I inhaled it deeply and felt a resolve growing in me. I walked down the stairs slowly and limped out of the house and across the short distance between my house and hers. Going up to the porch, I felt my stomach twist into a ball of nerves as I knocked on the door. Predictably, no one came to open it so I tried the door knob. It was locked. I walked around the house to the back door and found that, too, locked. I tried the windows all around the house until I found one that gave way to my pressure and lifted it up. I was not Katniss. Crawling through small spaces was not my area of expertise. I was able to get one leg through the window but my prosthetic caught on the window frame, making me fall shoulder first onto the ground.

So much for stealth. I lay there for a moment, orienting myself, rubbing my shoulder, knowing that I would likely bruise. When I was able to stand up, I closed the window carefully. I was definitely sticking to the front door. I walked around to the kitchen – there was her duffle bag and books, thrown on the table. The room was incredibly tidy, no doubt because no one had actually been using it in several weeks, unlike my kitchen, full of baskets with baking molds, spatulas, fruits and vegetables. There was the clutter of active use. I couldn't stand the emptiness of this house - the silence oppressive, the bareness hollow. I couldn't stand the idea of Katniss in here, looking at the empty sink, the bare counters. I had to suppress an urge to cry again and walked upstairs instead.

Her room had the same air of disuse. The bed was perfectly made, the surfaces bare. I looked in the bathroom but saw that it, too, was in perfect condition. There weren't even water spots on the metal of the sink. Nothing. This house spoke of a void. Like me. And like her. Because I filled her up the way she filled me up.

_He completes me._

I walked resolutely down the stairs and turned back into her kitchen. I took her things from the table, glancing about for her bow and arrows – clearly, that's where she was. I was filled with an incredible pride in her. _When bad things happen, my girl shoots something. _Taking the books in my other arm, I decided to use the front door. I debated on locking it but thought better of it. I didn't care. She wasn't going to be sleeping here tonight anyway.

**XXXXX**

I went home and took a bath, looking at the lump on my forehead and the pink bruise on my cheek turning purple. I changed out the bed sheets, washing them myself – I didn't want Greasy Sae to know what we were up to here. I left the pillow cases, however, because they smelled so much like her. When the bed was fixed and I was put together again, I set myself the task of baking. I kneaded the dough for the cheese buns that I knew she would like so much, heating up both ovens. I mixed the flour and sugar for a cake. I cut greens for a salad to eat with the wild turkey left from yesterday's dinner. I spent the remainder of the morning preparing everything I thought Katniss would like. I knew I ran a very real chance of her not returning until evening so I waited until after midday to walk back over to Haymitch's house with a fresh loaf in hand. I felt I owed him an apology and anyway, I could not stand to be alone today.

"Twice in one day? How did I get so lucky?" He muttered.

I ignored him and nodded towards his jaw. "Did I do that to you?"

"No, I just love clocking myself in the jaw. It adds spice to my life." He said sarcastically.

"I can't be at home." I said miserably.

"What, lover's quarrel?"

"Worse."

"Worse? What kind of drama are you mixed up in now?" Haymitch's speech dripped with sarcasm but I knew that underneath, he really wanted to know.

I took a deep breath. Who else did I have? Dr. Aurelius, maybe but I needed to talk now and every now and then, Haymitch could even make sense.

I told him. Everything. Well, not the good parts, but the general gist of events, even telling him the subject of my flashback. With heavy editing.

Haymitch chuckled at this. "Let me get this straight. You fool around. She tells you Gale kissed her in District 13 so you walked out on her and came here? After you had sex with her for the first time? You realize you are never going to hit that again, right?"

I could feel my anger rising. "Don't talk about her like that." I seethed.

"Okay, okay. But you _do_ realize you are not going to get out of this by buying her chocolate and flowers. Katniss is not that kind of girl. She'll probably put an arrow through you."

I leaned into my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. "Look, it wasn't all me, you know. I know I fucked up big time but the minute she told me about Gale, I knew I was going to have a flashback. It might not have been the best decision but if I didn't leave, I was going to hurt her."

"So, it wasn't all you? Haymitch probed. "Why are you going to go into a flashback about something that doesn't matter to you?"

I became uncomfortable. "I mean, I was recovering from being tortured and she's off sucking face with Gale. How am I supposed to feel about that?" The awful jealousy that had seized me this morning was winding its way through my blood again. "She tells me she couldn't take it when I came back hijacked , that it destroyed her but apparently it wasn't enough to keep her away from Gale." I suddenly felt so hollow inside, like she had scooped out my heart with her nails and launched it into the woods.

"So you didn't just leave because you were having a flashback."

I put my head down. "No." I muttered. "But I could feel that this one could hurt her."

"Yeah, I know, my face still feels it." Haymitch looked at me for a moment, considering something. "How many friends did you have, before the games?"

I was taken aback by his question. "Lots, I suppose. I mean, I knew everybody."

"How many friends do you think Katniss had?"

I didn't answer, my throat clenching.

"Here." He put up one finger. "One. Gale. Maybe Madge. That's it." I put my head down at this.

"Let's picture this." He continued. "So, your dad dies and you have to take care of your mom, who's checked out, and your little sister, who's clearly starving. Your best friend is someone who has your life story, comes from the same place you do, hunts with you and even looks like you. You following me?"

I just nodded, my stomach beginning to clench up.

"So, all of a sudden, your sister gets reaped and you volunteer to go in for her because you know she won't make it two minutes in the arena. She'd have been lucky to make it off the plate. Now, you got nobody except for some kid who threw you a loaf of bread but never grew a pair big enough to speak to you, and suddenly this kid is telling the world he loves you. You both decide it is better to just pretend you're in love and this whole show starts to play, in front of her best friend who'd probably just as soon see you run through by a career than see you kissing on his girl."

"But they didn't have those kinds of feelings then." I protested.

"No, maybe not Katniss. But it is clear from subsequent events that he did have feelings for her and she realized it. So now, you got your only friend who is in love with you but you can't think about that because you are trying so hard to keep everybody alive, even that irritating kid who threw bread at her and now expects her to love him back, just like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Why irritating? Was I irritating to her?" I asked.

"No, but you irritate the shit out of _me_. If you want my advice, you can just sit there and listen." He refocused and continued. "So, you manage to survive and get back to District 12. Guess what her only best friend is going to do?"

"Try to get her to love him."

"Right. Except something happened to her in that Arena with that bread boy that she doesn't know what to do with. Now, she gets reaped again with this boy and realizes she probably isn't coming back. Do you remember when you came to me after the reading of the card? Guess who showed up after you?"

"Katniss." I said, my heart sinking.

"And guess what she wanted? A promise that I would do everything in my power to save you, if necessary, at her expense. She wanted to keep you alive at all costs, because she said it was right, that it was your turn. That you deserved to live, more than anyone else. Or maybe she is not the most self-reflective person in the world and didn't understand her real motivation. Do you know how much easier her life would have been if you had just died in the first Games? But Katniss doesn't ever choose easy, does she?"

I nodded, if possible feeling worse than I did already.

"Now, she didn't know anything about the plot to destroy the arena. A lot of victors interceded to make sure you would stay alive because we knew Katniss would not keep any alliance if something happened to you. "

I thought of the Quarter Quell, the way Finnick dove to get me off of the platform, the way the morphling jumped in front of the monkey and took the bite for me. "Katniss' allegiance depended on my staying alive."

Haymitch nodded. "Did I ever tell you how I got these three scars?" He pointed at his cheek and I noticed the three long scars on his face.

"When we picked up Katniss in the arena, she had lost so much blood, she went into shock. We had to pump her with a transfusion to save her. The first thing she did when she woke up was to go looking for you, with a syringe in her hand. I have no idea what that was about but my guess is she thought she was in the Capitol and was looking for you to put you out of your misery. But you are going to have to ask her that, if she gives you a chance." He paused to open a bottle of liquor and take a swig. "When she came to the control room, we told her about the plot. She found out that you had not made it out of the arena with her and Finnick. She jumped across the desk and almost scratched my eyes out." At this, he chuckled ruefully. "After that, she hid out in ventilation ducts and closets. She worried the hell out of everybody. After your first Capitol transmission, a lot of people were calling you a traitor. That's when she decided to become the Mockingjay, in exchange for immunity for any victors picked up by the rebellion, no matter what they had done. That was for you, kid."

I was stunned. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me this?"

Haymitch shrugged. "When did you ask?"

If I had had something in my stomach, it would have come up at that moment.

"It gets better. She did the propos like she was asked. After your warning to District 13, she realized that every propos she did would be taken out on you by the Capitol. She refused to do anymore and had a nervous breakdown. That was fun because Finnick was already loopy and now we had a matching pair. That's when we decided on the rescue plan. And guess who volunteered to go in and get you?

"Gale." I hissed.

"So, you've done a lot to take care of Katniss. Under which circumstances would you go in and save the life of your rival for the affections of your girl?"

"To save the rebellion." I said snidely, that hissing jealousy boiling up into my throat.

"Think, loverboy. Under which circumstances would you go in, risk your life, to bring back the boy that your girl loves?"

"He must have loved her a lot." I whispered.

"He also knew that there was no way she would be right again if you we didn't get you out. Come on, Peeta, you did the same thing for her, standing up for Gale when he was being whipped. You weren't doing it for him. You were doing it because you knew she would be miserable if something happened to him. That's why he went in and got you."

I became overwhelmed by everything and rubbed my face to rid myself of the heaviness of knowing these things.

"We knew it was too risky to take her, even though she wanted to go. The minute she found out you came back, she went right to you. Of course, we know how that turned out." Haymitch paused. "The doctors said there was a good chance you would not recover. The torture you went through was rare and there was no treatment for it. And yeah, sorry to say it, but she gave up on getting you back. You tried to kill her every chance you got and when you finally did come around, she was pretty messed up."

"I wouldn't have given up on her." I said petulantly, not quite believing it myself.

"Well, see, that's the thing about imperfect people. They tend to act in imperfect ways, including occasionally making out with their lifelong best friends for the wrong reasons. And especially when they've gone through insane shit. Anyway, we always knew you were the better one." He said sarcastically.

Not much, from what I can see. We lapsed into silence for a bit. Then Haymitch began again.

"So when you got back to District 12, what did you think of Katniss?"

"She looked like a mess." I said.

"She got up for the first time when you came back. She had been sitting in the same spot for 2 months. No bath, nothing. Greasy Sae had to feed her. You came back and she started to turn around.

"I understand why you feel like you do – Katniss did not make it easy for you. I get that. But Katniss is not the romancing kind of girl. She's not trying to attach herself to anyone because she really doesn't need to. At least, not physically. That's girl's a hot mess in her head, though so I don't know what she needs up there. She was never one to know herself very well. But if she gave herself to you, you'd better take her at her word. "

"And Gale?"

Haymitch became exasperated. "What about Gale? He's in District 2 somewhere. You don't think if she had wanted him here, he wouldn't be here by now? For someone so smart, you sure can be dumb."

I wanted so much to believe him – that Katniss really loved me, that she gave up on me because she thought I wouldn't recover, not because she loved Gale more. But if she had loved Gale more, she would be with him. He would be here now, right? I thought about the Quarter Quell, imagining her attacking Haymitch. My heart shattered at the idea of her hiding in closets because of me.

What had done?

"I have to go." I said, standing suddenly.

"I was asking myself why you didn't get gone already." Haymitch stood up to cut a piece of bread. "She's probably out in the woods, isn't she?"

"What?" I asked, snapping out of my reverie.

"In the woods. She's hunting right?"

"Yeah. I'm going to look for her there."

"In the woods? You sure you want to try to catch up with her when she's armed?" he asked.

I didn't respond to him. Maybe it was best if she put an arrow though me.

**XXXXX**

I didn't have to go very far. As soon as I walked out of Haymitch's door, I saw her slipping by through the back yard, lithe and agile, to the back of her house. My heart started to race as I limped my way across the yard. I would not be able to catch her before she went inside and I certainly couldn't cover my steps so I didn't bother to be covert. I knocked on the door, again, not expecting an answer. I stood at the door quietly, putting my hand up to knock again when the door flung open. My heart stopped in my chest. She was gorgeous, strands slipping out of her braid, her skin flushed from being outside. Her eyes were a smoky gray, filled with emotion.

"Where's my stuff?" She hissed, trembling from her anger.

"I took it home." I said simply. Even when she wasn't moving, she seemed to vibrate with kinetic energy.

"How dare you just come into my house and take my things out of it?" Her voice began to rise.

"This isn't your house. Your house is over there, with me. I want you to come home."

She gave me a hard stare, her grey eyes slitted and glittering like an angry cat. I knew her enough to know when she was holding back from crying, her eyes taking a downward curve, the tension building in the soft lines around them. But Katniss was proud. She wasn't going to let them out.

"You're a real piece of work, Mellark. I will never, ever, ever go home with you again. I don't want you anymore. I've been through two Games and a war but no one every treated me like you did." Here her chin began to tremble but still, she was holding them in check behind her rage. She was such a glorious thing to behold.

"Katniss, come home. I'm so sorry, like I've never been sorrier for anything in my life. If you let me explain…" I stepped toward her, my hands pleading.

That was the wrong move.

I underestimated how strong those delicate hands could be. The slap she gave me rattled my jaw and set my teeth to chattering. Caught by surprise, I was not ready for her to lunge at me, pushing at me, then pummeling me with her fists, her incredibly potent fists. I let her have at me, covering my face, as she punched and slapped me, screaming and swearing at me. I deserved every bit of it, I knew it but she needed it too, to expend her anger so she could get to what was underneath. Because I knew what was inside her heart. I did what I should have never done to her, what so many people had already done to her.

She began to expend herself, like a candle flickering out. Her pounding slowed, her screaming became sobs as her tears finally came. I pulled my arms away from my face and tried to wrap myself around her. She pushed me away from her but I didn't let go. Her shoving became weaker as she gave way to her tears.

"Damn you." She hissed through her tears. Now came the hiccupping she hated so much. My leg was a throbbing mess by this point but I didn't care. When she slumped against me, I picked her up and brought her inside, kicking the door shut behind me. She kept muttering things, even though she was weak from crying.

"I hate you." She whispered.

"No you don't." I said quietly. I set her down on the sofa and gratefully sat next to her. Her tears flowed unchecked and I knew she hated that too. Wrapping my arms around her and finding her unresisting, I began to rock her gently, letting my hands slide over the smooth skin of her arms. At least she was letting me and that was progress.

We sat like this for several minutes. With a shaky sigh, she whispered "Go ahead, just say it."

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts. "During the games, I knew that we had committed to acting in love to survive. I knew that intellectually. But there were moments that I thought you were doing more than just acting."

"There were." She said.

"I guess I thought when we got back to District 12, maybe we would do more than just act the part. When you didn't speak to me for 6 months, when you spent every minute of your free time with Gale, I knew I shouldn't have but I got angry. I felt let down. Used."

She shivered at this but said nothing.

"The Quarter Quell brought up my hopes again. When the Capitol picked up Johanna and me, I was sure we were dead. The only thought I had was to hope that you had managed to get away. I could take anything as long as you were safe. Snow visited me himself, telling me the war was going badly for the rebels, that if I would just cooperate with him, he would grant you immunity and wouldn't execute you if you were captured. The first two programs I made were cooperative. I was as good as a traitor but I thought, if I could just convince everyone who was fighting to lay down arms, I might be able to get you back alive. I didn't realize I was playing a game I had already lost."

She turned to look at me, riveted by my words.

"When you launched the propos, the approach changed. They came into my cell at all hours. I didn't sleep for days because they made sure to pump loud music into our corridors. Johanna was put in a room next to me so that I could hear her being tortured. They made sure I watched Portia, my prep team, Darius, everyone be tortured. They came into my room and randomly beat me with the voltage stick, at low voltage and in places that would not leave a physical mark. They did not want me to appear on television with bruises. That would ruin sympathy for the Capitol and they needed a captive audience."

"Warning District 13 of the firebombing removed all of their restraints. They beat me to within an inch of my life." She looked away at this, her tears flowing again. "They were kind enough to patch me up, putting the best doctors to the task of healing me. That's when the real fun started. They pumped me with tracker-jacker venom day and night, showed me videos of you trying to kill me. Do you know they actually had a video of Gale kissing you in the cabin? They saved that one as a special treat." My head began pounding but I breathed deeply and focused on Katniss, her skin, the sound of her breathing. "They made me watch the footage of District 12 being firebombed, showed me the bakery turn into a ball of fire, with everyone inside. All the while, they planted images in my head while I was under the influence of the venom to show that you were the one who had ordered the bombing of District 12. At that point, I was determined to kill you in any way possible. They would have kept going on the "treatments." Do you know why they stopped? Because my heart gave out twice and they were afraid my body couldn't take anymore venom. I was too good of a weapon to waste."

I took her hands and played with her fingers absently.

"And then there was my rescue, and Gale, of all people, coming to save me. You know the rest."

"So I had this illusion that while I was recovering, you were somehow waiting for me, that maybe you weren't as confused about your feelings like during the first games. Especially after the beach." Katniss eyes fluttered down, a look of intense shame crossing her face. We both remembered when we spoke after Finnick's wedding. We both knew that maybe I was being delusional. "There are times, Katniss, when I have to walk away, get my bearings. They didn't just tamper with images of you. They magnified every insecurity that I have. I love you, mindlessly, completely. But I also want you to love me the same way, not like you love a pair of left-over socks that you are really grateful for when it gets cold and you need warm feet." She gave me a sad smile. "Sometimes, I feel like those left-over socks."

She sniffled and put her arms around me. "I don't think of you that way, though sometimes that's how I treated you." She wiped a last, drying tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, a movement so endearing, it was all I could do to keep from crushing her to me. "I can't blame you for having that fear. But I choose you, now. I had so many chances with Gale and it never, ever occurred to me to be with him the way we were last night. I never kissed him and felt hungry."

I put my hand on her cheek and kissed her softly. Her mouth had the power to push everything away until there was nothing but those lips on mine. She looked up at my face and cringed, as if noticing for the first time. "What happened to your face?"

I shook my head. "I had a flashback when I left. It was coming on when we were together."

"Is that why you left?" She asked.

"It wasn't the only reason but it was one of the biggest ones." I gave her a half smile, a little embarrassed at my ability to spontaneously go loony. "Haymitch is pretty banged up too." I felt the humor drain away. "If I ever did that to you…"

"Don't think about it. It's over." She paused. "I thought you were leaving me forever."

"I might go away, but I could never stay away. You should know that by now."

She leaned into me, her firm body waking up every single last nerve ending to the point of agony.

"Let's go home, Peeta." She said.

I nodded. Those were the second best words I'd heard her say today.

She put her lips to my ears. "I love you."

Those were the best.

**This is a courtesy &lemon& alert so if you're not 18, please forgo Chapter 14. For everyone else, I love your reviews and the fact that you are following this story. I would have never imagined it. I also appreciate the honesty – keep it coming.**

**I'm dying to hear what you think! **


	14. Chapter 14

**I want to say that how incredibly grateful I am for all of you who are following, favoriting or just coming back to read my story. The reviews I get are so good – they not only make my day but I get a lot of useful things from them (I heard you, GirlwithaBow). Some of my funniest and most insightful reviews also come from Guests to whom I cannot respond personally. So I offer up this chapter to all of my amazing reviewers as a gift for your support. We can have some plot later ;D.**

**I had so much fun writing from Peeta's point of view, I've gone and done it again. Enjoy!**

**HG FanFic Rec: Tainted Love by SolasVioletta. It's a WIP and an AU but Finnick is so delish in this story. And Peeta, of course, but I think Peeta is perfect. Always. (gooday ;)).**

**Chapter 14 – Peeta's POV (Part 2)**

I was so happy when I brought Katniss home, I could have picked her up and swung her around but my leg was really becoming annoying so I had to content myself with hugging her hard to me and kissing her for a long, perfect moment. I released her so she could clean up while I warmed dinner.

I prepared a plate, cake and all and limped over to Haymitch's house. I was particularly generous, given the events of the day. As I walked in, he positively growled at me but I just ignored him and set the plate out. "There's some cake too, you raving drunk." He chuckled at the insult, uncovering the plate and digging into his meal while I collected the dirty dishes that had come from my kitchen.

"If you are alive and cooking, I'm assuming you guys have patched things up." He mumbled over his his cheese bun.

"We did. Thank you. It helped to have…perspective." I said.

"It helps to use your brain." He watched me as I collected the plates. "Leave that. I'll take that stuff over later." He offered with uncharacteristic consideration.

I stiffened, feeling the blush climb up my neck. "No, really, not tonight." I sputtered as he looked in askance at me. "We're going right to bed…" I continued to stammer.

He let the fork fall on the plate in exasperation, looking anywhere but at me. "Aw, damn, there goes my appetite."

"It's just…to sleep…I mean…we're tired you know…" I could feel myself getting redder and redder."

"Yeah, right, whatever. Just get out of here. I'll see you sometime next week." Haymitch continued to ravish his plate.

I took my things and left, dying of mortification. I had practically come out and told him my intentions and was slightly grossed out. Even if I did spill the beans earlier, at least it wasn't in real time. I groaned as I went back home.

Luckily I was starving so the thought of Haymitch soon left my head. Everything looked so good, too good, really. But I wasn't just hungry for dinner. I suddenly did not want to linger too long over the meal and almost regretted making so much.

**XXXXX**

I didn't realize she had returned until she put her head on my arm, a move that made me jump every single time. Katniss was like a cat, walking on air when she wanted to. I felt her perk up when she saw the basket full of warm cheese buns. She picked them up possessively and put them on the table, close to her. I smiled at this – she was like a kid with a favorite toy. She was tough, intimidating and sexy but sometimes, she could also be so vulnerable and the contrast made my heart ache longingly for her. As she returned to help me with the last of the table settings, I noticed she was wearing one of my button-down shirts, the over-sized sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was loose and brushed out – the way that I liked it. Her shapely, muscular legs were on full display and I swallowed hard, feeling a twitch in my groin. I swear, if I had thought that she had eaten at all today (she probably hadn't), I would have abandoned the whole table, cheese buns and all, and taken her right there in the vestibule. Better yet, I would have eaten the damned buns right off of her body.

The thought did not help my discomfort at all.

"You look good in that shirt." I managed to croak out.

"My clothes are still packed," was all she offered by way of explanation.

As I served myself, I watched her eat. I was right – she was ravenous. The cheese buns didn't stand a chance against her appetite and I managed to sneak a few out of the basket but she was merciless and had them almost to the exclusion of everything else. Even though she was focused on her meal, there was a palpable tension in the air, making my chest clench every time she looked up at me from under her eyelids. Those grey eyes that looked like storm clouds earlier shined tonight, so clear I could see the dark line that circled her irises. I'd made a cake for her, frosting and all, and had the best intention of cleaning the table but I couldn't resist anymore. When I was sure she was finished, I wiped my mouth and got up carefully, slowly walking to her side of the table. Her eyes slipped to the ground – did she know that I hunted in my own way too, not with bows and arrows, but with food and comfort? I could lay my own snares baiting them with the things she loved and let my prey trap herself. She was mine, a prize that had taken me so long to catch and I challenged her to find another creature so less likely to escape than her. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her face up to me.

"You should never put your head down before anyone." I whispered.

Her eyes searched mine as I took her hand and pulled her gently out of her chair. I could see the goose bumps spread over her skin and barely resisted the urge to pounce on her right then and there. As it was, I would barely make it up the stairs if I did more than take her hand so I simply led her up to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. She switched on a small lamp while I carefully removed my clothes, leaving only my boxers. When I turned, she was next to me, her eyes roaming over me and I could see her mouth slacken as she began to breathe heavily. I reached out to her and I felt the slenderness of her waist as I wrapped my arm around her and held her to me. I kissed her then, a deep, searching kiss that promised more, whatever I could figure out to give to her. I unbuttoned the shirt she wore, my shirt, slowly, reveling in the revelation of her luminous, olive skin. My cock gave a hard twitch when I realized she had nothing on underneath. I was delirious with the idea that she had eaten an entire meal with me in nothing but my dress shirt and I couldn't hold back anymore. I ran my hands over her body , my lips trailing down her neck before cupping her breasts, bringing them to my lips and sucking on them, first one, then the other. Her breath hitched as I caught one nipple in my mouth while the other hand held her arched back in place against me. I could feel her panting, little sounds of pleasure escaping her lips while she held my head against her breasts, begging me to continue.

I began to feel a bestial thing rise up in me, a desire to devour her overtaking me as I put my hands under her buttocks, lifting her while I kissed her again and setting her down on the bed. Lying next to her, I let my hands roam her body, down to her hips while I kissed her deeply, my tongue invading her mouth, licking her lips, dancing with her tongue. I felt her hand gently take mine and place it between her legs, the moisture wetting my fingertips. I groaned, remembering how embarrassed she was when I touched her there last night and immediately let my fingers roam gently, slipping into her folds. I sucked on her breast again as she moaned and writhed underneath me and was excited with my ability to please her. When my finger slipped over a small nub at the apex of her thighs, she literally arched off of the bed and I knew I had found her secret place.

Now, I was as much a virgin as she was but I had older brothers and there were a couple of things they talked about when they thought I was sleeping that I was careful to pay attention to and that little button was one of them. I began to let my suckling kisses run over her breasts and down her stomach, the skin so smooth as to be surreal to me. I continued over her abdomen, spreading my kisses over her hip bones. Eating and hunting had given her slight build delicious, womanly curves, rounding her buttocks and thighs that I now lavished with my mouth, my finger all the time exploring her. I slipped a finger gently inside of her to explore what areas of pleasure could be found there. She could be so closed, so restrained yet here, beneath me, she held nothing back, squirming and moaning with pleasure, completely lost to speech. I became delirious with a need to possess her. But I had a promise to keep with myself and I would see it through.

I moved up next to her and whispered in her ear in a languid way, nipping at the delicate skin of her earlobe, "I want to kiss you, Katniss. Is that okay?"

Katniss was so lost to the world she seemed not to hear me, confusion suffusing her features. "You are kissing me." She said breathlessly.

"No." I said, slipping another finger inside of her, causing her to arch off the bed again. "I mean here."

I watched as her nipples seemed to grow tauter, her entire flesh becoming pink under the luminous shine of her olive coloring. She simply nodded her assent, her breath coming tightly out of her chest.

I made my way down again, kissing her hotly over her skin, pausing to suck on her pert, round breasts, making her already tight nipples clench further as I pinched them gently with my sheathed teeth while my fingers began to move in and out of her. I continued my travels back down over her again, kissing her greedily. Katniss could only grab my hair and arch her against me as my lips glided over her stomach and abdomen, my tongue dipping into her belly button. Kneeling between her legs, I pulled her gently to the edge of the bed, adjusting my prosthetic to support me and look at her as I worked my fingers inside of her. Something primitive in me found her folds to be the most compelling thing I had ever seen. I was fascinated by my fingers disappearing inside of her and longed to be there instead.

I widened her bent legs to gain access to her most intimate places. I began to lick her with long strokes, her breath drawing in sharply. The taste was her, intensified and I began to work languidly over her lips, paying attention to her body and adjusting myself in response to her moans, her body language. I learned quickly that flicking my tongue over her small, hard mound would make her squirm with near agony, her hands in my hair tugging hard, my name escaping her lips loudly while the long strokes up and down made her sigh with a languid pleasure. When my tongue pushed inside of her, she half breathed, half groaned, grinding herself into me. But when I sucked on her hard knob while moving my fingers in and out, she instinctively moved against me, making me understand through her body that this was where her pleasure was concentrated.

I began to apply pressure rhythmically and could sense her pleasure mounting, her breath quickening. I kept up the pace, her hands guiding my head , my fingers plunging into her while I continued to suck on her until with one last applied pressure, I felt her exploding around my fingers, as she screamed out my name without restraint. I put my mouth on her and took her orgasm into my mouth, slipping my tongue inside.

Her contractions were deep and I could no longer resist. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I climbed over her, barely removing my shorts before plunging deeply into her, trying to be gentle, catching her waves around me as I began to pump into her with an insane desire to possess her. I knew I should be calmer – this was only our second time – but I was possessed with a need to let her know she was mine. I could hear the words in my head again – _She's mine now_. I may have even uttered the word, _Mine,_ as I pushed her legs open, watching myself push in and out of her. Her hands were all over me, running up my chest and over my shoulders, her delicate finger slipping into my mouth. I could not help but sucked on it. She pulled me down to kiss her and I did, a rough, savage kiss, my hands in her hair, holding her head while I took what I wanted from her. I was clammy with sweat and felt my own release building. I slid one hand over her backside and ground myself into her, making her mewl with pleasure. Her nails dug into my back as she urged me to move faster into her, arching against me as she fell apart, those powerful waves pulling me deeper into her. Watching her face as she gave herself over to her pleasure, to the pleasure _I _gave her, undid me and my release burned its way out of me, sliding hotly into her.

I rocked for a few more moments before collapsing over her, careful to keep my weight suspended on my arms. I kissed her gently on the lips and slid to the side, gathering her up into my arms.

"Wow." She whispered gently.

"Wow." I chuckled, grateful that I didn't have to come up with anything else.

**XXXXX**

At some point in the night, I woke up with a throbbing leg. Trying not to wake Katniss, I carefully removed my prosthetic. Setting it down quietly in its stand, I reached over to get the cream. I was sure I was bruised even there – no part of me had escaped unscathed today. As I rubbed the cream gently into my leg, I felt her hands on mine, stopping me. I looked down at her and smiled. I would never get tired of seeing her there, lying next to me.

"Are you okay?" she asked groggily.

I whispered, even though it was only the two of us. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry."

"Your leg?" she probed.

I sighed. "I've had this leg on since yesterday and it's a little sore."

She smiled slowly, such a rare smile that I think she saves only for me. "Let me."

"No, Katniss, you should sleep." I said contritely.

She didn't listen to me. Of course. Katniss always does what Katniss wants. But I didn't complain. I massaged my leg in a utilitarian way, just to get it done. But the one time she did it was with an enormous amount of tenderness and attention. Sitting up on her haunches, her nakedness silhouetted against the darkness of the room, she gently applied the cream, her strong hands pressing the cream firmly into my soreness. I brought my hands up to touch her hair in turn, marveling at how silky it was compared to just a year ago, when it had been nearly singed off in some places. Besides the faint outlines of her scars, no one would ever know that such a sturdy, beautiful girl had had to fight for her life so many times. I loved her in a desperate, heart-racing way. But I also admired her and was even intimidated by that spirit that would not bend easily; and if it did bend, it was under inhuman pressures, pressures that would have broken anyone else. Who could be blamed for wanting to hold on to someone as rare as her, whether it was me or Gale or the whole of Panem?

Lost in my reverie, I did not notice when she stopped and just looked at me. "What are you thinking?" she asked, a small smile dancing at the edge of her lips, still plump from our kisses.

"That if Gale did kiss you in District 13, it's because you are really too hard to resist."

She cocked her head at me. "Are you still thinking about that?" she said, a little huff in her tone.

"No, I was actually putting it to rest. But you did ask." I said

"That's what I get for asking." She said petulantly.

I chuckled. "You're so sexy even when you get all indignant. You really want to turn me on? Throw a fit."

"Why?" She said, crossing her arms.

"Because…" I got closer to her "…then we could have incredible, mind-blowing make-up sex afterwards." I kissed her neck as I said this.

"You're a big baby." She said, the hint of laughter tainting her voice.

I stiffened, for sure my face losing all of its color. Katniss got a slight look of panic. "Katniss, we have not been using any protection."

Katniss gave me a deadpan look. "Oh my, you're right, I know what that means. That means you think first with little P down there…" she pointed at my sleeping friend "…and not with that that big thing you knock around with all day up there." She pointed at my head. "Lucky for you, I think of everything."

"Really?" I said, relief threatening to take me away.

"Yep. Dr. Aurelius sent me a box of birth control and my calendar says I can have indiscriminate sex whenever I want because I won't get pregnant. Didn't think of that, did you, Mellark?" Katniss pushed her finger into my chest then crossed her arms in front of her chest, smirking at me while I enjoyed the rare show of her being smug and playful.

"No. But that does mean you've been planning to seduce me all this time." I countered, pushing my finger into her shoulder, then crossing my arms in front of my chest, imitating her smirk.

She uncrossed her arms. "That's not true!" She deflated slightly. "Not really." She acquiesced completely. "Okay, maybe a little."

I laughed, an open mouth laugh that I'm sure carried out of the open window and across the lawn. Katniss' s stone face cracked slowly into a grin that gave way to a laugh so musical, I had to stop to listen. I smiled as her laughter continued and died away slowly, leaving her eyes bright and a grin on her face.

"What?" She said, still chuckling from her laughter.

"I don't think I've ever in my life heard you laugh like that before." I said with some feeling. "I like the sound of it."

Katniss became shy all of a sudden. "Maybe I haven't had much cause for laughter before."

Stupid me, I wanted to keep her laughing and I inadvertently shut her down.

"I'm going to make sure you have lots of reasons to laugh, Katniss. I promise." I said, my love for her, always under the surface of everything I say or do overwhelming me.

"You already do." She whispered. I pulled her into me and gave her a kiss that sent heat to every extremity of my body. But she was tired. I could see sleep pulling at the edges of her eyes.

I slid down, pulling her next to me and stroking her hair and back until her breath became even. I reveled in the feel of her body, so soft and solid at the same time. Sleep came upon me soon afterwards, with only the dream of us keeping me company tonight.

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games trilogy, though I darned wish I did! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Did anyone ever wonder what happened to the pearl Peeta gave Katniss during the Quarter Quell? I've searched Mockingjay high and low but there is no mention of it after the battle of the Capitol. Anyway, this is my take. This is a &lemon& alert so be forewarned. **

**HG FanFic Rec: After by MasenVixen. One-shot about the period right after Peeta's return to District 12. I thought the interaction was genuine and she stayed in character.**

**If there are errors, let me know. My Beta is on vacation!**

**Chapter 15 - Pearls**

I'd been awake for some time, watching Peeta sleep. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm buried somewhere under his pillow, the other thrown out to his side. I felt strangely untethered on those rare mornings when he was not half-lying over me. And yet his sleeping body radiated contentment. Like me, he never spread out in his sleep, instead remaining wound up and contained in a pre-defined spot on the bed, always holding me, clinging to me. Today was different – he took up an enormous amount of space, his body seemed to be everywhere. It was as if he had been given permission to expand the limits of his safety; that it was alright for him not to cling so desperately to it. Maybe I was not necessarily untethered; maybe what happened between us just lengthened the cord that held one to the other.

I smiled to myself when I thought of last night, especially last night. Our first night together was wonderful but somewhat marred by Peeta's obvious jealousy and his flashback. But last night was different even than that. I saw a side of Peeta I had not seen before. He was demanding and unrestrained, so unlike his usual openness and generosity. As if he could not get close enough to me. As if he was marking his territory on the surface of my skin. I never had many illusions about sex – I understood it at a functional level. But now I understood the power behind it, why it was at the center of so many things people did, especially between people who were in love. I never felt more alive than I did when making love to Peeta and I could not imagine ever, ever doing what we did with anyone else. It seemed that the inevitability of what we shared became more solidified with every stroke of his large hands.

I also felt beautiful – lithe, strong, sexy. My scars didn't matter. I saw myself as Peeta saw me and for once I did not find such terrible fault with me. I could get addicted to feeling this way. The desire to bridge the space between us tempted me sorely but Peeta slept so sweetly, I couldn't bear to wake him. I was beginning to feel restless so I slid quietly out of bed and picked his shirt up off of the floor, putting it back on, blushing as I recalled the effect it had on him. I moved stealthily down the stairs, slipping into the guest shower on the first floor to wash myself. I was loathe to clean Peeta's smell from me – every drop of sweat, every fragrant thing he left on my skin marked me as his but I knew that it would not be long before I wore his scent like a cloak over my body again.

The kitchen sobered me a bit. Peeta was so methodical in everything he did that I was unaccustomed to seeing the kitchen in disarray. I proceeded to clean up the dishes from last night, salvaging leftovers and storing what needed to be stored. The bird was gone so I set the scraps in Buttercup's bowl. The cheese buns met an untimely end, every single one of them. I patted my belly absent-mindedly, remembering the satisfaction with which I consumed them. We never used the dishwasher – there never seemed to be so many dishes that it was needed. But today, I was feeling lavish with myself and put all of the plates, even pots inside. I searched for the funny soap that went inside the square receptacle and turned the knob on, the whirring of the mechanical motor strange in a house in which its inhabitants did everything by hand. I set water for tea on the stove and set out two cups, placing the tea leaves inside the metal strainers. These simple routines made me feel so normal that I could almost forget that I had had another life, full of blood, fire and death.

_There it is._

The tell-tale thump of Peeta putting on his prosthetic sounded above me. I poured the hot water into the cups and placed them on a small tray, carrying them both upstairs. He was showering so I fixed the bed and returned downstairs to fetch my duffle bag. I unzipped it and began arranging my clothes and personal effects in the closets and drawers, laying out a cream-colored summer dress with straps and a sash in a bright yellow that reminded me of Peeta and dandelions. Lately, everything reminded me of Peeta. I worked quickly so when he left the bathroom, only the empty bag and hanging dress remained of my work. His eyes skimmed over me, a combination of shyness and open desire which made me feel self-conscious. He wore only his boxer shorts and the sight of him made me seize up with a nervous energy. I turned to pick up his tea cup, trembling slightly as I removed the strainer from the water. He sat on the bed, propping up his prosthetic. I sat next to him with my cup and we drank quietly, only our fingers intertwined. I looked at him over my cup.

"How is your leg?" I asked.

"Much better. I bruised it pretty good though."

I reached out to touch his cheek, now stained blue and purple. "That's not the only thing." I whispered.

He caught my hand in his and cradled his face in it. How many times had I caressed him and yet at that moment my skin was scalding at the touch of him.

He turned his mouth to my palm and kissed it. "No nightmares?" He said.

"No, no nightmares."

We lapsed into an awkward silence, something palpable hanging between us.

"Pretty dress." He said, glancing at my sundress.

"Cinna." I said, swallowing hard.

"I prefer my shirt on you." He smiled, tugging at the hem.

"I bet." I smiled back, my heart racing.

Again, that pregnant silence.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Starving." He whispered.

"Would you like me to make something?"

"No." His eyes became serious.

I took our cups and placed them gently on the table. I scooted over to him and slowly straddled him.

"Well, then." I said.

I put my hands on both sides of his head and gave him a deep kiss, tasting the tea in his mouth. He kissed me back gently, his hand sneaking up my neck into my loose hair. I had some vague plan today that I could not capture, an idea that evaporated like dew in the heat. Our heat. I had been reduced to nothing but motion, thought and speech having abandoned me. His kiss became more insistent, his hands under my shirt, running the length of my back on either side of my spinal column. His hands cupped my buttocks and squeezed, pulling me towards him, a gasp bursting out of me. He pulled the shirt down over my shoulders, the sleeves catching slightly on my arms behind me. Instead of pulling it off all the way, he left my arms trapped in the shirt. "Don't move." he growled and used both of his hands to first cup, then gently squeeze my breasts. He reached one hand behind me and tugged at the shirt, which caused me to arch my back, pushing my breasts toward him. He nipped at them, playing with them, before settling onto one, drawing out the nipple, sliding his tongue over my skin. I was wet – embarrassingly so – and already ached for release. I was still sore from last night but the pain seemed more inviting than prohibitive. I threw my head back as he continued, turning his attention to the other one, my arms trapped in my shirt, his large hand balling the material and holding me in place. It thrilled me to be held like this. He let his mouth run over my shoulders, kissing my neck. He was devouring me and the throbbing became almost impossible to tolerate.

"Let me touch you." I whispered helplessly.

Peeta did not respond, instead pulling me down for a kiss, his hands carefully untangling my arms from the sleeves of the shirt.

Finally free, my hands roamed his broad shoulders and chest. I kissed him along his neck, tasting his scars. I could never tire of the way his skin felt under my mouth. He moaned under my attack and I enjoyed the idea that I was making him do that. I felt his hands slide under my buttocks and touch me, a groan escaping as he felt my wetness. Lifting me slightly, he shimmied out of his shorts, his desire leaping out in relief for having been trapped. Taking my hand, he put it on himself and let me guide him as he lowered me slowly onto him, his shaft slowly sheathing itself inside of me. There was that feeling of being full but he took me slowly this time, nothing like last night, allowing me to adjust to what I was beginning to think was a rather large shaft, though I had little basis of comparison – never having seen an aroused man before.

"Peeta!" I hissed his name as I was fully descended on him, the feeling of fullness so much more than any other time.

At this, he kissed me roughly, holding me in place as we both savored the feeling of him being completely inside of me. I was unsure of where to go so I let him guide me as he, too, searched for a motion that would suit. I ground into him, rotating my hips, making him moan, then lifted myself slightly, feeling him slide inside of me. "Katniss!" he gasped as he grabbed my waist and began to move me up and down over him, slowly. He slid down from his upright position on the bed to recline further, his head still propped up but now, instead of his shoulders for leverage, I had to use his chest. The effect was to make me feel even fuller, if it was at all possible. I lowered my head to kiss his neck and chest, my tongue licking patterns into his skin, ravishing his nipples as he did mine and making him squirm, his groans filling me with a heady power. He continued to move inside of me. I sat up completely and, using my own power, moved up and down on him, his hips bucking to meet me, our rhythm beginning to take form. His hands grasped my breasts and squeezed them, running over my waist and hips.

"Touch yourself, Katniss."

I looked down at him, puzzled. He took my fingers and brought them over the small nub between my legs. When I touched that spot, a bolt of electricity ran up my spine. He gently guided me, teaching me without words what he had done last night. When I was able to find a rhythm that caused me to build, he took my waist and we began to ride together in earnest. It was the most exquisite feeling I had ever had, the coil inside of me began to tighten beyond relief and I was in almost complete control. I was gasping, moaning, making noises I had no cause to make under any other circumstance but this. Peeta bit his lip, watching me as my touching became insistent.

"Ah, I'm so close." I fairly shouted. Soon, too soon, I was arching my back, "Oh Peeta!" My head lolled on my shoulders as those spasms sent waves of paralyzing pleasure crashing through my body.

Peeta accelerated, his hold on me becoming tighter. I could see him struggle to keep from unraveling as my waves washed over him. I stopped for a moment to grind into him, rotating my hips again, enjoying the effect it had on him. It was his turn to arch his back, almost grunting under the assault. Finally, not being able to hold back anymore, he began to thrust into me furiously. I leaned back slightly, letting him lead me, giving up control to him. Soon, his beautiful face twisted and I felt it, the hardening inside of me, than the warmth. His body shuddered as he gave in.

He pulled me down onto him and held me as he tried to slow his breathing. We lay like this for several long minutes, his fingers running over my back. All I focused on was the sound of his strong heart beat under my ear, the solid sturdiness of his breathing.

"Are you okay?" he whispered after several moments.

"Too okay." I answered back.

I sensed his confusion despite his chuckle. "Is it possible to be too okay?"

I sighed. "It's just; I never thought I would ever feel happy again. I keep feeling like I should be waiting for something terrible to happen. Even though we are here and safe, I still feel exposed…"

"Vulnerable?" suggested Peeta.

"Yes, that's it. I had Prim." here my voice hitched, "Peeta, I loved her so much. I lived in fear that I would lose her and I did, I did." I started to tremble at this, not used to invoking her so boldly in daylight. I could feel my voice breaking and hoped I would not dissolve into tears. "And now there's you and I keep wanting to lock all of the doors and windows and put my bow and arrows next to my bed because I'm waiting for the knife to fall. I keep thinking a Peacekeeper will come any minute and take you away and I'll call and call for you and I won't ever see you again." I buried my head in his chest, fearful of what he might think of my outburst, inadvertently invoking the terror of the Quarter Quell when we called and screamed for each other in desperation and never did find each other again...

Peeta kissed my hair and pulled back to look at me, his blue eyes looking into me as only his eyes could do. "I can't promise that nothing bad will happen again – nobody can promise that. But I can promise you that I will never knowing leave you and if I do," he smiled sadly, surely thinking of the times he was taken from me, "I will do everything in my power to get back to you." He squeezed me to him. "We have to start trusting that things are going to get better now or we won't ever have any peace." I nodded my head at this, hoping I could figure out a way to do this magical thing called trust.

I was suddenly seized by an inspiration and got up, taking him by surprise. I went into the end table on my side of the bed that I had taken over for myself. I opened it and carefully drew a small box out of it. Peeta sat up, reclining against his pillow. I brought it to rest between us and opening it, I carefully pulled out the three objects inside, one by one. The first was the spile that Haymitch sent us in the arena, the one that saved our lives when we used it to extract water from the jungle trees. Peeta's eyes crinkled as he took it and examined it closely. "You kept this?"

I nodded, smiling. "It saved our lives. Took us a bit to figure out what it was, remember?"

"I do. What a wicked Arena." whispered Peeta.

I nodded and pulled out the next object. He took in a deep breath as I handed the delicate chain and dangling locket to him.

Peeta said nothing for a long moment as he examined this also. "I was going in there to die." He whispered. "I prepared this whole persuasive thing to convince you to let me do what I needed to do. You weren't having any of it. But in the end, I guess something worked out, didn't it?" He said seriously.

I shook my head. "I went in to die also. Nothing would have persuaded me to do otherwise. It didn't happen because of sheer bad luck and the deception on the part of others. I wouldn't call what happened to you afterwards 'working out.'" I said with some vehemence.

"Hey." He said gently, trying to calm me. "We're here now. That matters a lot." He cupped my face with his hand.

I simply nodded, shaking off my irritation as I pulled out the third object. Instinctively, I rolled it against my lips, feeling its cool sturdiness against the soft skin. I handed it carefully over to Peeta, the most precious of all my objects. He held the grey pearl in his fingers, rolling it as I stared at it in concentration.

I whispered, almost to myself. "I kept that pearl in my pocket every day after the explosion of the Quarter Quell arena. I even took it on the mission to the Capitol. When I took the key to your handcuff, I put them in the same pocket together. I remember because I would feel them rubbing against each other while I walked. While the Capitol held you, I had this crazy idea that the pearl was your life and if I could just keep it safe, then somehow you would be safe too. But I didn't keep you safe, did I? _You_ alwayskept your promises to me. _You_ came back to me." I lapsed into silence, playing with the lint on the bed sheet.

Peeta seemed overwhelmed by my confession, a realization that rendered him speechless. For a long moment, he stared at the pearl, rolling it between his fingers as I had done so many times before. He carefully placed this and the other objects in the box, setting it on the end table. Then he pushed me gently onto my back on the bed and kissed me until I was breathless. He put his lips to my ear and whispered "You really were waiting for me, weren't you?" I nodded my head, the unbidden tears escaping and rolling into my hair. "I wasn't completely wrong." he said against my neck.

"Oh Peeta, if you had asked me then what I was doing, I wouldn't have known what to say. Seeking revenge? Keeping the Mockingjay agreement? But if you ask me to look back, there are very few times since we met that I wasn't either looking for you or waiting for you."

"Even when you thought I had allied myself with the Careers?" he asked, kissing my shoulder.

I smiled through my crying. "Well, maybe not then." I sobered quickly. "I'm so sorry about Gale." I whispered to him.

Peeta looked up. "No, I don't want to talk about that again. I was stupid, Katniss. There were so many things I didn't know. Haymitch told me what happened to you while I was recovering in District 13. I should apologize to you for being an ass. Let's not let that ever be between us again, okay? He pleaded.

I nodded again, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. He smiled at this gesture and kissed me again, this time, with a new promise lying underneath it. He moaned and pulled back, already breathing heavily. "I've loved you for so long, it's as much a part of me as my name." He kissed me again with heat and I could feel my body responding to him. I wanted him inside of me again, greedy to have him after having to settle for only proxies of him for too long. But he just kissed me for a long moment before patting me gently on my leg.

"Come on, you should eat something." He said, beginning to straighten up, shaking his now shaggy long hair, perhaps to gather his wits about him again.

"No." I pulled him down to me again, literally pouting.

"What do you mean, no? Aren't you hungry?" he laughed.

"No." I repeated.

"Well, what do you want then?" he teased, knowing full well what I wanted.

I smirked, reaching down to wrap my hand around him, already half erected and swelling in my hand.

He gasped and tensed his back. "You're insatiable, you know that?" he shook his head, still smiling.

"I consider it therapy. Dr. Aurelius would approve." I began to stroke him, firmly but hopefully not too hard.

He stiffened, clearly losing his train of thought. "Would he? Okay, but I do this only in the best interest of your mental health." He kissed me differently, a deep, soul-searching kiss, while I continued to stroke him, his kiss filled with promises I knew he would keep.

**XXXXX**

Insatiable was hardly a description I would reserve only for myself. Peeta seemed to be making up for something also, or maybe it was just the fact of two 18 year olds, in love, with too much time on our hands but the result was that we slept nightmare free for several weeks. The feeling of closing my eyes without fearing the specters that would rise up behind them was something I had forgotten. We left the house for necessities – to tend the garden, feed Haymitch, the odd hunting trip for meat, Peeta's walk to the train station for the Capitol's deliveries. We still slept less than most people should be allowed to. But we weren't running from ghosts or mutations. It embarrassed me to think how easily I had given myself over to the physical part of love. For the first time in my life, I understood what it must be like to be young and reckless.

I also knew the moment the headiness wore off, I would have to face my nightmares again. This was a reprieve and I embraced it for the gift that it was. Dr. Aurelius spoke about gratitude, about refocusing my thinking to identify those things I should be thankful for, instead of thinking only of my losses. I was thankful for what I had with Peeta and I immersed myself in it.

It was not my usual selfishness. Maybe I am, as the good doctor says "an earthly girl of little transcendence" but this concrete, physical way of showing affection suited me perfectly. I was not sentimental, I was a person of action and this action had a concrete result. Peeta was visibly happier, luminous even, if it was possible for him to shine in my eyes more than he already did. That I could be responsible for this made him dearer to me. I didn't hate myself when he was that way and this in turn made the expression of my love more spontaneous and open. As far as I could see, I was good at this and this improved my own estimation in my eyes. Haymitch said that I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not be worthy of Peeta. This may be true but I felt myself somewhat redeemed by loving him well.

And it was good. So good. As summer began to slip into August, I took him back to our lake. It was ours now, like the house, the garden, the projects that began to manifest themselves before us. This time, I would teach him to swim, longing for the feel of those cool waters before the cold hid the lake from us for a year. I helped remove his boots, both of us stripping down to our underwear and took his hand as he maneuvered his prosthetic through the mud. I held his waist as I taught him to first float, so much harder now without the flotation belt but sweeter for the absence of the thousands of eyes that had watched us the first time I tried to teach him. When I whispered in his ear, it was not to plan escapes and alliances but to tell him how good he was, that there was nothing he couldn't do. When he became frustrated with his leg, perhaps cursing the necessity of being so young and needing something so foreign to give him the mobility that had been stolen from him, I kissed him gently and told him I loved him, lopped-off leg and all. He laughed at the way I described it as lopped-off and pushed himself out into the water, begging me to play. There were loud splashes and childish games of dunking and darting about that ended with the very serious play that we both knew well. With the blanket at his wet back, he taught me how to please him, gently, no teeth please and I found a new way to make him writhe and moan in my hands. When I tasted his release, I was astonished by the way it seemed to taste like him and yet did not.

Peeta started to talk about re-opening the bakery. It thrilled me and terrified me at the same time. We would be opening our perfect existence to a cruel and uncompromising world. He told me of the location, a new one close to the marketplace that each day was growing where the Hob used to be. He pulled out his sketchbook and propped it on my bare stomach, showing me his designs – stainless steel counters and ovens both modern and stone. He envisioned small tables where people could eat and take coffee or tea instead of just picking up their wares and leaving, as it had been before. Perhaps there would be meetings with friends to talk about the sweet inanities that made up a peaceful life. I promised to help him in any way I could – after all, hadn't he taught me how to make those wonderful cheese buns I so adored? He gave me a tender smile and kissed me, touched by my offer. He talked about permits and going to the Justice Building for one thing or another. I made a decision, right there at our lake that I would go with him to town that very week to file for the articles of establishment for the new Mellark Family Bakery. "I am, after all, your family now, right?" I asked, so shy about something so inevitable. He swallowed hard and hugged me too him, almost crushing his precious sketchbook.

The nightmares snuck up on me, perhaps because the memory book was finally taking shape and there were so many lost souls to bear witness to in those pages. At first, they were little snippets of dreams, each night a bit more intense until one night I had a full-blown episode that left me lying in bed, gasping, for a long while. When I was sure the fault-lines of my grief would not open up to swallow me, I lifted my head to gaze at Peeta who had held onto me through the worst of it. His face was bathed in the diffuse light of a cloud-covered moon as it slanted in through the open bedroom window. I studied the contours of his face, so perfect that even the scars from the explosion could not diminish his beauty. My heart seized, as it often did, at the thought of the agonies he had endured, how many contortions of pain his dream-like face had experienced. My gaze fell on his eyes, half-shut so that all I could see was the glint of light given off by his impossibly long lashes. I was riveted by their length and thickness. In the right light, the gold they gave off could mesmerize me in a way few things could do.

His eyes fluttered opened and stared back at me, unabashed by my examination. He was so open and giving. There were no hiding places inside Peeta though I knew his soul ran deep and unfathomable with the grief he endured. Yet to me, he always offered himself without reservation. I recently understood I had only to be worthy of him, not by acts of valor or glorious exploits but by offering myself unconditionally to him in return. I often buckled under the utter conviction that I did not deserve anyone, the guilt that I stole the life that Prim should have had. Into that dark thinking I heard Dr. Aurelius' words– that I should be convinced of the perfect rationality of my worthiness to love and be loved in return. And so clinging to that perfect rationality, I loved Peeta and let him love me in return.

**XXXXX**

**I'm excited about the next few chapters. K & P's world opens up, there is the requisite angst and drama and perhaps some unexpected visitors?**

**Thank you for your reviews! I enjoy talking with you and reading what you have to say ****J****. I read a lot of fanfiction so if you come across something great, please share it so I can recommend it here.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I absolutely love my reviewers! This chapter is a long one, which is why it took me a bit to post. I hope you like it.**

**A special shout-out to SolasVioletta for lending me her brain on the song selection for this chapter. I'm jonesing for some Tainted Love right now ****J!**

**HG FanFic Rec: Grey Skies and Sunshine by Dakota 423. Another Growing Together story which I absolutely love.**

**Chapter 16 – Gravity**

I held Peeta's hand tightly as we left the safety of the pillars that marked the entrance to Victor's Village. I came back to town more than a month after the Day of Remembrance, the very day after my promise at the lake to come with Peeta to the Justice Building and begin the process of re-opening the bakery. Before that day, I had not even walked these streets since the Propos in District 12, the day I sang and Finnick revealed his secrets, creating our own distraction as we waited for the rescue team that brought Peeta, Johanna and Annie out of Capitol captivity. I've returned with Peeta several times since to fill out the necessary forms for the bakery. It gave me the opportunity to watch how quickly the process of rebuilding was taking place. Without the throngs of people in front of the Justice Building, I was also better able to admire the large glass memorial, a flame to mark the lives snuffed out by the Capitol's tyranny, including my Prim. I always took the opportunity to run my fingers over her name. To some degree, Peeta and I were also diminished by the Games, though life with him had made other things burn much brighter. It would be wrong to say I had no regrets – to say this meant that I could accept my current situation at the expense of the lives of so many people that I had loved. But I did not want to imagine the alternatives and so I set myself to accepting what was in front of me without trying to reconcile my current life with the tragedies that brought me to this point.

We were back today to deliver the papers Peeta was asked to complete. Over the past few weeks, he had been consumed by all the miniscule details that went into opening a business from the ground up. There were Capitol grants for opening businesses to support the rebuilding of centers destroyed by the war. I helped Peeta fill out reams of paperwork, consulting with existing architectural plans sent by the Capitol's Ministry of Reconstruction to select a building that would be suitable for a bakery. There were simply not enough architects in the Capitol to redistribute to the Districts to ensure the safe construction of new buildings and public facilities so plans were generically drawn up for buildings housing major types of economic activities. In fact, there were very few people to meet the needs of a country which had historically reduced 95% of its population to servitude, with only a tiny educated class to provide much needed services to now struggling Districts. Young people were fast-tracked for training in primary medicine, administration, finance, fire-fighting, teaching, and policing – all occupations that had been out of reach of most citizens of Panem beyond of the Capitol. Some Districts were in a better position to rebuild more quickly – District 3 with Electronics, D6 with Transportation and of course, District 13. Some Districts, like 2 and 8 were just barely getting off the ground again after having been decimated by the war.

District 12 was a different story, I could see that now. Perhaps because this District is considered the home of the Mockingjay or perhaps the Capitol wanted to show that something good could come of so much destruction. The town center was completely rebuilt and the surrounding streets leading out into the different satellites communities of District 12 were paved. The breathtaking lamps watched like sentinels over the movement in the streets below. The most spectacular addition was the construction of the pharmaceutical production facility and the new state of the art University Medical Center with an accompanying School of Medicine on the northern outskirts of what was once the Seam. Groundbreaking had just begun on the surrounding dependencies – homes, a new school, laboratories and First Responder Clinic to serve the present population. I felt an overwhelming urge to visit these sites but this was Peeta's party and I let him lead the way.

Climbing the steps of the Justice Building, I could see the pointing, the stares. I steeled myself – I wasn't here for them but for Peeta, for us. I was getting better at being in public. To the credit of District 12 residents, they did not make a fuss over my comings and goings. The gawkers were usually volunteers or workers from other Districts that thought the sight of me was of such importance they should stop whatever they were doing to stare. I had to give credit to their survival instincts – they at least knew better than to speak to me. My scowl virtually announced that I could not guarantee a civil response if they even tried for a conversation.

Peeta pulled me closer to him, instinctively sensing my unease. We entered the building, and I knew I would never get used to the way the Justice Building had been completely transformed after the Revolution. The floors and columns were now marbled, dark wood harvested from the surrounding forests adorned the trim and furniture. The ceilings were painted, depicting scenes from the revolution - the three-fingered salute, a burning Mockingjay flag, the siege of the Nut. How strange to see history from the outside after almost drowning in it. It all seemed like an exciting novel to be written, a movie to be made unless it was your body and soul which bore the scars that would entertain the generations.

Mayor Greenfield was in the vestibule, deep in conversation with a group of professionally dressed people when he caught our entrance and made his way over to us. He was relatively young compared to the late Mayor Undersee, perhaps his early 40's. He belonged to one of the older merchant families in District 12. Like Peeta, he was one of the few survivors of his family – sheer luck had spared him and his only son when his family, including his wife, had been wiped out. He had the signature light hair and blue eyes of the merchant class, of a slighter but taller build than Peeta. He bowed his head at me and firmly shook Peeta's hand. The well-dressed crowd stared at us – who hadn't by now? – as the Mayor greeted us.

"Mr. Mellark, Ms. Everdeen. It's good to see you." He smiled warmly at us.

Peeta smiled back, turning on the charm, a fine compliment to my own diffidence. "We're doing well, thank you. We are just leaving the forms for the new bakery." He responded with his own smile.

"I heard about your plans for re-opening the bakery. We are really excited about it. No one's had a decent loaf…" here, he paused, almost imperceptibly. "…in a long time."

Peeta simply nodded at this. We both knew full well what he was about to say and I appreciated his delicacy in not completing the painful thought.

"May I accompany you to the permit office? Maybe I can do something to speed up the process." He smiled at his own irony, waving his arm out in an invitation to walk with him.

"Thank you." I said in a low voice, attempting to appear composed. Peeta, on the other hand, was the picture of cool.

As they continued to speak, I studied the vestibule when my eye caught a giant plaque on the wall, larger and wider than a person. There were numbered sentences and I stopped to examine it.

"What is it?" I asked.

Mayor Greenfield looked patiently at me. "That is the Universal Declaration of the Rights of Man. Did you not stay for President Paylor's speech after the memorial dedication?"

"We were escaping the Capitol Press Corps." Peeta answered wryly.

"Pity. It was a very moving speech about the Capitol's responsibility to the Districts. The Capitol unveiled its own memorial." said Mayor Greenfield. The Arc of Victors was built where the children were firebombed in the Capitol, a giant stone arch that amassed all of the names of every tribute ever offered for the Hunger Games from all 12 Districts. Leading up to the Arc was a walk called the Path of Tributes, lined on each side with a statue of one boy and one girl, representing their districts. A declaration was inscribed on each statue for a total of 24 declarations, 2 per District. Each statue bore an identifying feature of their home District – giant gems for District 1, tridents for District 4, fire for District 12. Mayor Greenfield wove a description of the lavish dedication, emphasizing that the Declarations were principles upon which the new laws of Panem would be written.

"It was quite a triumph for human rights. Who knows if we will know how to live under the rule of law?" mused the Mayor.

"I would think human rights would be a huge sell after Capitol rule." said Peeta, scanning the declarations.

"It is. We are in a good period. A lot of people were screaming for blood after the fall of the Capitol. President Paylor was wise to empower the Districts. I am very optimistic about the new government. It makes a big difference when your elected leaders have seen the bloodshed first hand – they are less likely to resort to violence as a tactic."

I was engrossed in reading the statements. Some stood out to me as painfully necessary:

**_1._**_All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights__._

**_2._**_ All human beings are equal regardless of differences in __race, colour, gender, sexual orientation, language, religion, political or other opinion, district or social origin, property, birth or other status._

**_3._**_ Everyone has the right to life and to live in freedom and safety._

**_4._**_No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms._

**_5._**_No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment_

**_6._**_ Everyone has the right to be treated equally and fairly under the law and has the right to ask for legal assistance from tribunals when those rights are not respected._

**_7. _**_No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile._

**_8._**_ Everyone has the right to a fair and public trial by an impartial tribunal._

**_9._**_ Everyone should be considered innocent until guilt is proved._

**_10._**_No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks._

**_11._**_ Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within and among the borders of each state._

**_12._**_Individuals of full age, without any limitation due to race, nationality, religion or sexual orientation, have the right to marry and to found a family. They are entitled to equal rights as to marriage, during marriage and at its dissolution._

**_13._**_ The family is the natural and fundamental unit of society and is entitled to protection by society and the State. Violation of the family unit is strictly prohibited._

**_14. _**_ Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others. No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property._

**_15._**_ Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance._

**_16. _**_Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to _

_hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers._

**_17._**_Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association. No one may be compelled to belong to an association._

**_18._**_ Everyone has the right to say what they think and to give and receive information._

**_19._**_ Everyone has the right to help choose and take part in the government of their country._

**_20._**_ Everyone has the right to social security and to opportunities to develop their skills._

**_21._**_ Everyone has the right to work for a fair wage in a safe environment and to join a trade union._

**_22._**_ Everyone has the right to an adequate standard of living and medical help if they are ill._

**_23._**_ Everyone is entitled to an equitable, free education._

**_24._**_ No power, ordained or otherwise, has the right to take away any of the rights in this declaration._

I was no historian but I was not immune to the enormity of these concessions. If this could be the consequence of all that Peeta and I and others had lost, then maybe regret was tantamount to treason. I had the rare moment of pride that I had been the Mockingjay. But it was just a flash for I was a profoundly selfish person in the end. I looked at Peeta's scarred hand, his prosthetic, Prim's name at the base of that monument and I had to resist the primal urge to spit on the plaque. My impulse shocked even me. I restrained my ungracious response, burying those feelings in a deep place in my mind, labeled and filed to be pulled out and examined with Dr. Aurelius during our next call.

Peeta handed over a large folder full of the papers we'd completed and engaged in a discussion with the secretary and Mayor about the various permits that remained to be obtained. Fortunately for us, there was a building that could suit and it would not be necessary to build one from the ground up. Ms. Bienchen unrolled the city map and identified the building and lot, not far from his desired location near the marketplace. She arranged for a time the next day to examine the property and, if we were satisfied, the papers would be drawn up. This was actually a very good thing, as it meant the opening of the bakery would be sped up by at least 6 months.

The Mayor smiled at this and shook our hands warmly as we said our goodbyes. "Please, don't hesitate a moment to call me if you need anything at all." He paused, overcome with emotion. "I have a young son who would have stood for the Reaping this year. You've helped save him from that and I think it is no exaggeration to say that this District, this country owes its future to the both of you." Peeta and I were stunned by this declaration. Mayor Greenfield recovered and gave us his hand, this time more calmly. "When your bakery opens, please allow me the privilege of being your first customer."

Peeta smiled and took his proffered hand, nodding. "We'll make sure of it. I'll have a treat for your boy also. What is his name?"

"Wesley. His mother named him." The Mayor's eyes clouded before recovered himself again.

"Give Wesley our very best." I said, feeling a sense of solidarity with this young, motherless duck already.

Mayor Greenfield seemed to light up at this. "He will like that. He admires you very much." His professional persona descended on him like a shield. "Good then. Enjoy the rest of your morning. There is a very nice stand that serves excellent cold drinks. I have to recommend that you visit it."

"We'll do that." said Peeta kindly.

As we left, I felt remorse for my irrational anger. It was a strange feeling for me, as I had seen myself as something of a homicidal lunatic. Yet from the point of view of many, we were still heroes. My heart ached for the Mayor's son – I knew what it was like to lose a parent, how disorienting it can be. Looking at Peeta, I realized we both understood this special kind of pain.

"It's strange when people try to thank us." I said quietly. Peeta looked down at me. "I always think people hate me because of Coin's assassination."

"People weren't attached to her. There is a lot of sympathy for you in this District." He answered.

"For both of us, you know." I said.

He simply nodded, getting lost in his thoughts.

"There's somewhere I want to go." He whispered, squeezing my hand.

I had an idea where he might take me and I made myself strong for it. "Of course. Wherever you want."

We walked out of the center and took the road towards the site of the original bakery, Peeta's home before the Games upended that notion for us. The road was so different from the dirt road and coal dust of my childhood. Did he note this also? I pulled him towards me, grasping his arm and leaning my head onto him as we walked. Peeta was strong in his optimism, his goodness. And yet I questioned that strength now and wished with everything I had that I could take this walk for him but I knew it was not mine to take. I could only stand beside him and pick up whatever pieces would be left over.

We arrived at the place of his bakery to find a site in flux. Construction was taking place around it, a cement truck churning the chunky material near the site. There were piles of construction material, a metal lattice emerging from the ground around which concrete would be shaped. There was nothing on the site, not the building or even a scrap of wood that could testify to the lives of the family who had lived here before the firebombs crushed everything into ash on the ground. As if sensing my thinking, Peeta bent down to rub dirt between his fingers.

"They're here, you know. Every single one of them. I saw the videos. No one made it out. Mom. Dad, Rye. Barrick. They bombed the merchant quarter first, starting with the upper classes, the ones who had always cooperated with them. They wanted to make the point that nothing could make us safe. They didn't even bother with the Seam. They hoped the refugees would die out in the forest. They didn't count on Gale keeping them alive until District 13 found them." Peeta spoke so flatly, it made my breath freeze in my chest. "They made me see you ordering their death, over and over." He looked at me directly when he said this, the ice moving into my veins. "I was so convinced of it, when I saw you in District 13, I could have ripped you open. I almost killed you because of it." He paused. "How do you tolerate me?" he whispered.

"No, Peeta, don't say that. Don't ever say that. That is the Capitol talking, not you. I know that." I put my hands on each side of his face when I said this. "They tortured you and filled your mind with lies. How could I ever hold that against you?"

He put his head down, his breathing increasing. "I couldn't open the bakery without saying good-bye to them. I waited too long already."

"You had to be ready." I looked him in the eye as I said this, so that he wouldn't miss a single word.

He nodded and put his head shamefully down.

I was not one for endearments but it fell from my lips like the air that I exhaled from my lungs. "Oh, baby, don't do this to yourself." I hugged him close to me, ignoring the surreptitious looks from the construction workers. "You're bringing back the bakery. You're making a life, maybe even a good one. And you are the best person anyone knows. They would be proud of who you are and wouldn't want you to feel guilty." I kissed his face, careless of the people who stopped to watch. "They stay with us, you know, in one way or the other, in the things we choose to do." Still he stared at the spot, as if searching for even a whisper of them. "Please, let me take you home."

He nodded, his face crestfallen, his shoulders rounded. Why did he want to do this? Because Peeta wasn't like me: withdrawing or escaping. He'd never go hiding in an exhaust tube, tying knots until his fingers bled. He hit things head-on. He may have taken his time because even he has his limits. But he was not escaping anything, not one iota of pain. He took it on and suffered through it because he knew that this was the only path that would bring him out to the other side. I was wrong. He was so strong. He wasn't afraid to fall apart and put the jagged pieces back together again because he knew he could. Even if it took him ten times longer to come apart than to stay together, he could let himself shatter. That was his power. That's why the pieces that the Capitol took from him could not stay gone for long. His gravity would pull it all back to himself again.

We walked back home, each of us lost in our dark thoughts. I wanted him to be triumphant. We had taken a concrete step towards opening the bakery. Panem lived under the rule of law. I had contained my hatred in a way I would have never done even three months ago. The Mayor thought of us and did not think of assassinations and insanity but of his son who would live a full life outside of the boundaries of fear. We were survivors. When did the world tilt so that I would suddenly be the optimist as he slipped into his dark place?

Because he was slipping again. He hadn't had an episode in more than a month and now he was leaving me again. It was all I could do to get him home before his temors took over. Lunch was out of the question. I undressed him, taking his leg off for him while he balled up in the bed, trying to bite his hands, his eyes beginning their dilation, opening the dark path in the twisted woods that he would soon fall through.

"No you don't." I shoved a pillow in his hands instead. "Not real, Peeta. It's not real."

"How do you know? You weren't there." he protested in a voice that did not belong to him.

"No, I wasn't but I'm here now and I'm telling you that what you are seeing is not real."

He shook his head, those animal sounds that broke me in pieces coming from somewhere in his chest. "It's all burning." He moaned, putting his hands to his head, pulling painfully at his hair.

I got behind him in the bed and held his powerful arms down. "It did burn Peeta, but it's not burning anymore. It's in the past. It's not real." I began to kiss him his face, his shoulders, wherever my lips could reach.

He cried, a heaving, sobbing that stole tears from my eyes also. He turned in my arms and clung to me, the clothes I had not shed becoming wet with his grief. He said their names over and over as his hands ran up my back, painfully clutching me, his fingers digging through the material of my dress and into my skin. He was not quite in the thrall of a flashback, a foot on either side of the line that separated reality from insanity. I endured the discomfort, the suffocation because he needed me to be solid, to be strong. It was his way back to me.

He shuddered, making no effort to still his tears as they rolled off of his face. "Sing for me again, Katniss, please." he begged me.

_He remembered_.

I wracked my brains for something to sing to him. A song suddenly came to mind - an old one that resembled none of the songs that we were used to singing. It was one I heard my father sing to my mother when she seemed sad after an argument, a disappointment, perhaps because every argument they had was a moment lost to the racing clock of time. Did they sense that it would all end too soon? I remembered the mournful texture of his voice, the pleading realism. This song was not meant for me. It was meant for love under duress but I had stored it inside of me for this moment without knowing it. Another gift my father had given me. My voice was rough from not being used in this way for so long but I couldn't deny Peeta anything.

_Oh, why you look so sad?_

_Tears are in your eyes_

_Come on and come to me now_

_Don't be ashamed to cry_

_Let me see you through_

_'Cause I've seen the dark side too_

_When the night falls on you_

_You don't know what to do_

_Nothing you confess_

_Can make me love you less_

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

He began to still, fixated on my voice, listening.

_So if you're mad, get mad_

_Don't hold it all inside_

_Come on and talk to me now_

_Hey, what you got to hide?_

_I get angry too_

_Well I'm a lot like you_

_When you're standing at the crossroads_

_And don't know which path to choose_

_Let me come along_

_'cause even if you're wrong_

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Take me in, into your darkest hour_

_And I'll never desert you_

_I'll stand by you_

He turned to me, the pupils of his eyes returned to normal as I warmed up to a high note.

_And when…_

_When the night falls on you, baby_

_You'll feel it all along_

_You won't be on your own_

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Take me in, into your darkest hour_

_And I'll never desert you_

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

He raised his hand to my face and touched me like the morning light when it dances through our open window. He put his head back to my chest, the tension that held his body hostage receding, leaving only the exhaustion and emptiness that led him into sleep. I held him like this, looking for the signs of the return of his madness in the lines of his face but it was gone. When sleep came over him, I guarded him like the flaming lamp posts on the streets of our town.

**XXXXX**

I eventually dozed off, the rhythm of his breathing hypnotic. I woke to his movements, a shifting as he resettled himself onto my chest. I could feel his hands drawing designs on my arms. I almost sunk back into sleep but for the insistence of his touch.

I turned my head down to him. "Are you okay?" I whispered groggily.

He nodded and remained silent for such a long moment, my eyes began to swim in my head, caught as I was between wakefulness and sleep.

"You have the most amazing voice." He said quietly. "When I'm having an episode, I just hold onto it and it brings me back."

I shivered, the curiosity getting the best of me. "Do you remember when I sing to you?" I asked him cautiously.

"Every time."

"Even the first time?" I probed.

He nodded.

"Do you remember anything else?" I asked.

Peeta looked up at me, alerted by his instinct of knowing me that I had something on my mind. "Your voice came through clearly. Everything else was like an echo. Why?" he asked me, his fingers continuing their patterns on my arm.

"The first time you had a flashback, I said a lot of things to you."

His fingers stopped as he looked at me with concentration. "You really said those things? I thought I had dreamt all of it."

I put my head back on the pillow, embarrassed.

"I should have known something that beautiful couldn't have been put there by the Capitol." He smiled at this, hugging me close to him, trailing kisses on my stomach. "I could listen to you all day."

I smiled softly and we lay there for another long moment, my fingers playing with his ear lobe, trailing a design over the hard ridge of cartilage. Our perfect peace was interrupted by a knock on the door. I picked my head up to listen, tempted to ignore it but thought better of it and sat up instead. "One minute please." I called out, running a hand through my messy hair, shifting Peeta as I tried to tease the sleep out of it while smoothing the wrinkles from my dress. "I'll go." I said as I kissed him on the tip of his nose.

Barefooted, I walked downstairs, still trying to straighten myself out. I opened the door to find Haymitch with a bottle in hand. Wordlessly, I stepped aside to let him come in.

"Missed you at lunch." He muttered. "Where's the boy?"

"Upstairs resting. He had another episode." I said as I went to the stove to heat up a kettle of water for tea. My stomach rumbled loudly, protesting out of hunger.

"Is he okay?" said Haymitch. He might be a snarky bastard but I knew he genuinely loved Peeta.

"For the most part. It was not a full blown episode but it was intense." I told him of our visit to the spot of his family's old bakery, sparing him some of the more intimate details.

"He had to go sooner or later. It's good you were with him." He said.

I nodded and offered him a cup of tea. He predictably declined, indicating his bottle.

"Have you eaten yet?" I asked as I pulled the vegetable soup out of the refrigerator to heat up. He indicated his bottle again and I took that as a negative.

"Do you only ever eat when we bring you food?" I quipped, knowing that he could live on booze and bread indefinitely.

He shrugged, which I took as an indication that I should probably set a place for him too. As I took out a loaf of bread Peeta made this morning, I heard the tell-tale thump above me as Peeta attached his prosthetic. He appeared in the kitchen a few moments later, his hair standing on end, the dregs of his previous sadness still pulling at the corner of his eyes. I smiled at how adorable his hair looked, even as pity made my stomach heavy and walked over to flatten some of the curls. He took the opportunity to pull me to him by the waist and kiss me, a deep, searching kiss that spoke of longing and need.

Haymitch cleared his throat which caused us to separate. I caught the hint of a smile on his face before he fixed his perpetual smirk in place again.

I moved reluctantly away from Peeta and stirred the soup. He helped me put the bowls and spoons on the table. When the bread and butter was in place, I brought the soup and ladled it into everyone's bowl. We ate in companionable silence. Haymitch was the first to speak.

"So, how are the plans for the bakery?"

Peeta looked up from his soup. "We submitted the request for the grant and the permits. There's a building near the old marketplace that was offered to us. We were going to look at it tomorrow…" he paused, looking directly at me as if to test the idea. "But I don't think we will go see it."

I tilted my head quizzically, waiting for him to continue.

"I want to build it where the old bakery was." He finished, waiting to see what I would say.

I thought for a moment. "I thought you didn't want to build over the site?"

"I didn't but honestly, I don't want some stranger building something where my family used to be either. I didn't think it would matter before but it is a big deal to me now." He said it almost defensively.

"It might set back the opening until after the New Year." I said. "But if you're okay with it then I don't see a problem." I said as I reached under the table to squeeze his good knee.

He visibly relaxed and reached under to squeeze my hand in return. Haymitch just looked back and forth at the both of us. "Well, if that's how it is, I'll be right back."

Now it was our turn to be surprised by him as he turned and left the house. Peeta looked at me and shrugged, finishing his bowl of soup and taking a second helping. Skipping lunch had made him ravenous.

After a few minutes, Haymitch returned with a rather large, box wrapped in plastic. "I've been holding onto this for a while until I thought you were ready. Looks like you have it together enough to handle what's in here." He handed the box to Peeta and sat back down to his soup.

We looked at each other, Peeta's eyes burning with curiosity. He pushed his bowl aside and, taking a knife, cut through the packaging to open the box. The shock almost made him drop it on the floor. Luckily, Haymitch had the presence of mind to shove a chair underneath it so the box came to rest on it.

"What is it?" I said, worried about the look of utter sadness that swept over Peeta's face.

Swallowing hard, he pulled out a book that seemed to have been singed at the edges together with a few metal cooking utensils and a smaller book that looked like a stuffed sketchbook. At the bottom lay the reason the box was so big. Peeta pulled out a large, thick piece of wood, its edges blackened. It was not a perfect rectangle; the edge was ragged as if it had been snapped from a larger piece. He simply stared at it, stone-faced as a giant tear rolled down his face. I jumped up, panicking and knelt next to him. "Peeta, what is it?" I said. "What did you do?!" I snapped at Haymitch.

"Quit your bellyaching and look at it." He snarled back at me.

Looking at the wood from Peeta's vantage point, I could see the letters printed on the front.

_Mellark's _

Like a flashback, it came to me. The sign I had seen a thousand times over the door of the bakery where I traded my squirrels for a bread. It was part of the sign of his father's bakery, the edges blackened by flames. I took a cloth from the table and gently wiped the soot that still clung to it. Peeta closed his eyes and hugged it to his chest, the tears squeezing out of them despite how tightly shut he held them. I held onto him while he leaned his head against me, his grief returning in sobs again, still raw from his flashback. Even Haymitch was moved by him and got up to put his hand on his back, murmuring in a low voice. I kissed his head, trying to soothe him. I was so upset, I wasn't sure whether to hold onto Peeta or smack Haymitch in the head with the wooden sign. When he finally got his composure, he pulled back to look at the sign for a long moment, still unable to speak.

"How did you get it?" I asked Haymitch.

"The clean-up crews were able to pick a few things from the ashes. You really should thank Thom. He scavenged for whatever he could find. He was going to give the box to you but I told him I would hold onto it until you were up to seeing these things again." Haymitch seemed almost apologetic.

Peeta sniffed, wiping his nose on the towel I used to clean the sign, smudging ash across his nose. I carefully took the towel and cleaned the mark from his face. "You have no idea how much this means to me." He told Haymitch sincerely. "I had nothing that belonged to them. Sometimes I even forget what they look like." He sighed deeply. "Thank you."

Haymitch only nodded and sat back in his chair.

Always the less gracious one, I was still undecided about whether to beat the alcohol out of Haymitch's body or not but I restrained myself. "What are the other things, Peeta?" I asked.

Setting down the wooden piece, Peeta gently picked up the bigger of the two books. "This is my dad's recipe book. His family has been collecting recipes forever. It must be a District 12 thing – put everything in a giant book and pass it on." He smiled sadly to himself. "I thought there were some breads I would never be able to make again." He whispered. "This is amazing."

Setting aside the recipe book, he pulled the smaller book out and carefully opened it. It was a sketch book not unlike the ones Peeta used. When he opened it, it was filled with drawings interspersed with pictures, which caused the book to bulge. It was less singed, simply looking old and worn. Here and there were photos of Peeta and his brothers at various ages, a wedding photo of his parents, sketches of babies, portraits of people I did not recognize. They were yellowed but the talent and skill were evident in the skillful details, the smudging of shadow lines.

"When did you draw these?" I asked as I looked over his shoulder.

"These aren't mine. They are my mother's. I get my gift for drawing from her side of the family."

I almost fell on the floor with shock. Haymitch gave a knowing look and said nothing. I could never imagine that the witch actually had the sensitivity to sign her own name, much less draw the way Peeta did. I almost felt pity for her but then I remembered the sound slap she gave Peeta when he burnt the bread to give to me so long ago and that feeling evaporated.

As if reading my mind, Peeta said, "Mom was frustrated in a lot of ways."

I simply nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Peeta placed his precious cargo carefully in the box again. "I'm going to bring these upstairs." He didn't take his eyes off of the box as he slowly mounted the stairs.

Haymitch took my hand as soon as Peeta was out of earshot, anticipating my tirade. "Katniss, he needed something of his family to hold onto. You understand that, don't you?"

I turned towards him and sighed. "I would never argue against him having everything he can from his family but he just had an episode. The timing wasn't that great."

"I knew he had an episode. But he wasn't going to have an episode because of this. Not anymore. With this bakery, he has a right to have whatever is left of his family." Haymitch spoke gently.

My original anger at him slowly dissipated. "It was really an amazing thing you did. Sometimes I think you love us." I gave him a small kiss on his forehead.

"I love _him_ for sure." He muttered, trying to be flippant, but the blush running over his neck and face betrayed him, unaccustomed as he was to anything but negative attention from me. "He's actually nice to me."

"I'm nice sometimes." I protested weakly, knowing that I was only really nice to Peeta.

I looked at him, a sudden realization dawning on me. "How did you know he had an episode?" I asked warily.

Haymitch ran his hand over his face. "Look, I heard you singing to him. You sing to him when he is having a flashback." He hesitated, uncharacteristically vulnerable this evening. Had we gotten under his skin that badly? "The birds really do stop to listen to you." He recovered his inner curmudgeon and muttered. "Beats the hell out of all that other racket you two make up there."

"No, Hamitch!" I screeched, completely mortified. I could feel my face burning from embarrassment as I took a step back.

"Don't worry. I just turn up the T.V. and the need to projectile vomit disappears. Can't wait till the cold weather rolls in." He grimaced, back to himself again.

"I'm going to go die now." I muttered, trying to escape Haymitch and my embarrassment by cleaning the lunch dishes. We lapsed into silence. We both possessed the special gift of being able to be in the company of the each other without needing to say anything.

Haymitch interrupted our shared silence. "Hey, sweetheart." His voice changed again, thickened, sounding young. "Don't ever stop singing."

I gave him a short smile, embarrassed now by the compliment.

"No, really. I mean, not just for him either. Everything stops to listen when you sing. Even the geese shut up. Damned birds." He shook his head.

"Thank you." I whispered.

"But for everything else, please, just close the window."

**XXXXX**

**I modeled the whole Arc of Victors and the Path of the Tributes on the Way of Human Rights (Strasse der Menchenrechts) in Nuremberg, Germany. It is a spectacular monument to the Declaration of Universal Human Rights, ratified by the United Nations after World War II on December 10, 1948. Likewise, the Declaration in this Chapter is based on these same Rights. I had to collapse a few of them together to make 24 out of the original 30. **

**The song is _I'll Stand by You_ by The Pretenders.**

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**


	17. Chapter 17

**This particular chapter has been sluicing around in my head for some time. A million thanks to SolasVioletta for her creative input and general excellent conversation.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Little Games by . Its Katniss and Peeta plus a baby or two – a lovely fanfiction that is worth reading.**

**I adore my reviewers. Thank you! I've gotten some amazing feedback.**

**This is a friendly &Lemon& alert. **

**Chapter 17 – Portraits: Part 1**

Haymitch returned home soon after our conversation. Still lingering under the cloud of embarrassment, I cleaned the kitchen and went upstairs to look for Peeta. I heard movement in his studio and went to the door, finding it slightly ajar. I did not often go into his studio – there were paintings I knew it was better not to see and anyway this was Peeta's therapy space and I did not invade it. As I pushed gently, I peered around the door to see him sitting in the middle of a tarp on the floor, thumbing gently through the sketch book, lingering over a picture. I began to pull back, leaving him to his space when he looked up, his eyes serious but welcoming. He motioned me inside. Stepping carefully, I sat down next to him to look at the picture he was studying.

"It's a picture of my older brother, Rye. He was probably 8 years old when my mother took it."

I studied the hair, darker by a shade then Peeta's, and the same striking blue eyes. "He was scrawny." I said.

"We all were. Even with a busy bakery, mom took care that we not eat what could be sold." Anticipating my censure, he qualified "There were a ton of tariffs and taxes on our goods and there were times when I think we did not meet the tax quota. It wasn't easy for us either." He whispered.

"I'm starting to understand that." I said, running my hand up his arm. "I used to think your life was easier than most because you were surrounded by food." I said.

"I think it was somewhat easier because there was food but I can count on one hand the number of times we ate anything fresh. Everything was old and stale. The challenge was to make it all edible. My father would take your squirrels and make a stew, then drop giant pieces of stale bread, the stew covering the taste of the bread. If it wasn't stew, it was broth. Sometimes we only had oil, salt, bread and some boiled greens." He thumbed the page before turning it, a picture of his father appearing, dressed in the casual clothing of District 12 men – dress shirt and pants with not too many holes in them. "Dad worked every day of the week. Even when we were closed on Sundays, he was measuring and preparing ingredients, mixing dough, or decorating the cakes. Mom did the accounting and you could always tell whether the books balanced or not by the mood she was in when she came upstairs. It was like walking on eggshells."

I nodded, thinking that even in our destitution, I never felt afraid to be around my parents. It was clear they loved each other very much and that love extended to us. My father was gentle with us, never raising his voice, much less spanking or hitting us. What would it have been like if I had been afraid of him? To not speak of my mother, who was delicate in everything she did, especially in her treatment of us. That is, of course, before she almost let us starve. I couldn't imagine what Peeta's home life might have been like. How did someone so good come from that?

Peeta leafed through the pages, telling me stories about his grandparents who died when he was young. Life expectancy in District 12 was not very high – I had never met my paternal grandparents at all and my maternal grandparents were off limits because of their intense disapproval of my father. Clearly, this was true of the merchant classes also. Elders like Greasy Sae survived by dint of steely grit and a dearth of tragedy, a quality not everyone possessed. He told me about the games he played with his brothers: the wrestling matches that primed him to be such a good wrestler in school. The time his father made a cake and tricked his mother into thinking it was an order that was later reneged on so that he could eat it with Peeta in secret. How he taught Peeta to mix icing, melt chocolate, decorate cakes. He was a kind man with a tender place for his sensitive youngest son. He was clearly not a man of great strength – at least not the strength to reign in the excesses of his wife but clearly loving and gentle.

I let him share whatever he wanted. I asked questions when things weren't clear to me. Sometimes, he would begin one memory and something else would emerge, changing the direction of his narrative. The pictures were helping his fragmented mind re-align itself and I was in awe as I watched the process unfold. Peeta was painting in the gaps of the canvas of his mind in broad strokes as the memories tumbled out of him and I smiled at seeing him becoming more whole before my eyes. He told me how his mother taught him to hold a pencil and drew pictures with him until he got so good, she had nothing left to teach him. In that same period she began to harden against him. He told me about his favorite teachers, playing ball with his friends after school to delay returning home, his first day in kindergarten, collecting tea leaves from the edge of the fence, running in the meadow, his father lying with him when he had nightmares.

He took my finger to trace the lines of his five year old face in one photograph. "That's what I looked like the year I lost myself to you." He whispered. I did not resist the urge to kiss him then. I envied his certainty – mine took so much longer to arrive. He wove a fable, sometimes poignant, sometimes funny, of his life that took us well into evening. And I caught every word, committing them to heart, as I walked through the gallery of his memories.

When the crickets overwhelmed the other sounds of night, he finally took account of the time. His back was against the wall as I lay drowsily on his lap. He had gone through most of the book with me, telling all the stories he could of the pictures and sketches.

"I'm sorry." He said to me as he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Why?" I said, truly puzzled.

"I've been talking my head off without giving you a break."

I smiled at him. "I enjoyed every minute of it. It helps you remember, doesn't it?"

Now it was Peeta's turn to smile. "I had lost so many memories, I didn't even realize how many were gone. I feel like I've gotten so much back today."

"There were so many things I didn't know about you and now I think I know you a little better."

"Uh-oh, who knows if that's a good thing?" He joked. "Maybe you know too well now to like me."

"You're right. I don't like you." I deadpanned.

His hand in my hair froze, taken slightly aback at my words.

I sat up and looked him in the eye. "I love you. I can't ever go back to just "liking" you."

He relaxed at this. I reached over and kissed him, full of invitation. He responded with ardor, his fingers winding into my hair, holding my head in place. I had enjoyed sharing his memories very much but I wanted to touch him, wanted him to make me his in the way only he knew how. Without further invitation, he pushed me onto the tarp, his hands already under my dress, running over my legs and hips. I ran kisses over his chin, down his neck. He tilted his head to grant me greater access and I laved his skin, savoring him, feeling the changing texture as my tongue moved from normal skin to scarred skin and back. I was overheating already and when his fingers moved my underwear to the side to feel my wetness, I knew that if we did not get up right at that moment, we would end up doing whatever we were going to do right here, on the tarp. I would not have minded but after spending the late afternoon on the floor, I longed for something more comfortable. I stood up and helped him up. He reached out to me and kissed me with greater intensity. He took my hand and pulled me out of the studio and directly to our bed. I didn't let him stop there, however. I tugged him to our large bathroom.

Putting my arms around him, I stood on my toes and let my lips drift to his ear. "Take a shower with me." I whispered.

A tremor went through him as he simply nodded, following me into the bathroom. I undressed, slowly, taking my time with my clothes, fully aware that he was watching me as I unbuttoned my dress slowly, letting it slide off of my shoulders. Forcing myself to making eye contact with him the entire time, I unclasped my bra and pulled it off, letting it dangle from my fingertips until it fell in a heap. He fairly panted as he watched me, his eyes darkening. He made me feel this way – he made me forget my scars, my slight frame, my small breasts. Hooking my thumbs in my underwear, I shimmied out of them, letting them lay where they dropped and stepping out of them. When I was completely naked, I kissed him gently, then worked to undressed him. He ran his hands over me while I worked, trying to kiss me back, sometimes complicating things so that I had to gently push his arms away, making him chuckle. I ran the water and held him firmly as we stepped inside. His shower had a ledge where I sat him down as I removed his prosthetic and placed it in its stand outside the shower. When I had completed my tasks, he pulled me down to straddle him and kissed me in earnest, his hands running along my back. One hand made its way up my neck and into my hair, gently pulling me until my neck was exposed to his lips and the droplets of sprayed water from the showerhead. He ran his kisses over my jaw and neck, down my collarbone until he reached my breasts. They were sore from needing to be touched by him so I put my hands into his wet curls and pulled his head over one, begging him to kiss them also. When his mouth finally descended over one achy nipple, I let out a moan that echoed off the walls of the shower.

The water falling over us made me feel relaxed and unwound. I ran my hands over his back, feeling the rivulets of water between my fingers and his skin as he switched to the other breast, his hands cupping my buttocks to pull me over his erection, grinding into me, making me yelp in surprise. I wanted to do so much to him but he was impatient and so I let him lower me over him, his moans filling the shower like the mist. He said my name against my chest as he sheathed himself fully inside of me. I felt so full but when he leaned back slightly, the droplets of water hitting my chest and running between us, and thrust himself inside of me completely, I shuddered with the depth of his penetration. He held me there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being so deep before he grabbed my hips and began to move me up and down over him. I pushed up with my knees and we did the dance we both knew so well. Leaning against the wall, he left me to my rhythm and put his hands over my breasts. He kneaded them gently in his large hands. He pulled me down to kiss him, thrusting into me. I rode him this way, my hands and mouth running over his shoulders and chest, skimming over his wet skin.

My legs on the ledge began to ache, and I knew I needed a change of position. I got up, surprising Peeta and felt the indentation of the ledge on my knees. I would need a towel next time. He reached his hands up to run them over my hips while his mouth spilled kisses onto my belly. Putting one foot gently to rest on the ledge next to him, his mouth went further down until it was buried in my hair there, his tongue flicking out to find my special spot, making me arch against him. With my hands on his shoulders to steady me, he licked me; his fingers entering me, plunging into me, making me call his name out breathlessly. He grabbed me from the back to pull me in closer to him. I had no leverage except him to steady myself against his attack and I felt myself climbing quickly. "Please, Peeta." I begged him, knowing he controlled my release. He became more insistent until I tightened around his fingers and I let myself go, calling out his name, letting the waves take over as I tried to keep from collapsing onto the shower floor.

Shifting to sit on his lap, I kissed him, tasting myself on him. I could feel him throbbing against my thigh as he shifted me so that my back was to him, my legs between his. Lifting me gently, he slid into me again. I gasped loudly, the unexpected feeling of him behind me, pushing into me made me throb again. He began to move me with his hands but there was no need. From this position, I had full control and I let my strong legs take over our rhythm. Using his good leg for support, I let myself slide up over him and slide back down, over and over. I could feel Peeta's hands along the length of my back and when his lips followed, I felt chills run up and down my spine. He began to bite me gently, reaching around to cup a breast with one hand, letting the other one slide down between my legs. I lost my rhythm, writhing over him instead, earning a chuckle from him. This was the most incredible feeling and I became unhinged, closing my eyes and riding him until I fell apart, releasing a long moan as I felt him reach his arms around me, and shudder his release into me also.

He held onto me, panting into my back. Slowly, he slid out of me and I suddenly felt empty. I missed him already and it had been, what, five seconds? I shook my head – I had it pretty bad for Peeta.

We sat in this way for a few minutes until I felt Peeta shift his leg slightly and I slowly stood up. The water was starting to get cold so I grabbed shampoo and soaped his hair, followed by mine, using the lather as body wash. I yelped as the water became icy cold and we both rinsed off as quickly as possible before shutting the water off, laughing at our own squeals as the freezing water stabbed us. Peeta dried himself right on the ledge while I stepped outside the shower. Then, offering him my shoulder, we moved to the bedroom, shivering. I found a t-shirt and shorts for Peeta and stole one of his old t-shirts for me. It was white and fell to my mid-thigh. Pulling on my underwear, I stumbled into the bathroom to get his prosthetic and set it in the stand next to his bed before shuffling under the covers, taking up my usual position on Peeta's chest. I buried my chilled toes underneath his calf, trying to warm them.

"I've never used up all the hot water before." I shivered.

Peeta laughed. "There's a first time for everything." He rubbed my arms to warm me up.

I lifted my head to look at him. "Will you hang the sign up on the new bakery?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't know if I want it to be part of a new sign or if I just want to keep it. I don't want it to get exposed to the weather or anything."

"Why don't you hang it inside the bakery and put a new sign outside? That way, it's still with the bakery but it will preserve better." I suggested.

Peeta looked down at me. "That's a really good idea. Maybe it could go in a glass case."

"You see, I can be useful sometimes." I quipped.

"You are very useful, though I really just keep you around for eye candy." He chuckled.

"Well, you have pretty low standards, then." I retorted.

"I don't think so." He laughed. "You're magnetic. You just don't realize it." He lapsed into silence.

"Have you thought of hanging some of those sketches in the bakery?"

"Which ones, you mean the ones in the sketch book?" he asked.

"Yes, those would work." I perked up. "You could hang some of your paintings. Some of them are so good.

"Uh, Katniss, I don't think people want to see paintings of the arena." Peeta shook his head.

"No, Peeta. You have few of the meadow that you could hang up. And the still-life?"

Peeta pondered my idea for a moment. "I probably need to start painting things other than the arena. I want to preserve the sketchbook but maybe I can duplicate some of the drawings and make them into portraits." He considered this a moment, his eyes brightening as the idea became more interesting to him.

"I'm going to start charging you for all of my ideas." I yawned as I said this, snuggling deeper into his arms. It was hard to believe that there was a time I slept alone and a vague but familiar anxiety swept across my stomach_. No, not the fear. I don't want to be afraid tonight._

I was granted my wish but in that twisted way the universe had of giving me what I wanted. I slept blissfully but it was Peeta who woke me with his uncharacteristic thrashing, elbowing me hard in my back. I tried to hold him but he bucked against me and it was only after significant shaking and murmuring from my part that I was able to bring him back.

"Rough dream?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." He said weakly. "You would think one flashback a day would be enough."

"It's okay. Your head has a lot to work out right now. Just rest now, okay?" I murmured softly to him and I sank back into my own rest. He was restless for a bit but drifted off into his own fitful sleep.

**XXXXX**

When I woke the next morning, Peeta was already out of bed. I would have to get used to this, since the opening of the bakery meant we would not have the mornings in which to lounge any longer. I felt a selfish pang for what I would soon lose. My depression had a hard time entrapping me when I woke to find Peeta wrapped around me, either lost in his own slumber or watching me until I woke. Sometimes I could win a kiss from him. Sometimes, I could win something more which kept us in bed until well past the time that morning birds ceased to sing. The times he was not in bed when I woke, I could always smell the tell-tale aroma of bread baking. But my senses told me today was not one of those mornings and I got up, driven by need to see him and make sure he was fine, for he had spliced himself into the rough bark of my soul. The time had long since passed that I could be indifferent to his absence.

Padding quietly into the hall, I stopped and listened. He was not downstairs – I knew that. I stepped quietly and heard the light swish, swish of a paintbrush against a canvas. Overcoming my normal reticence to walking into his study, I slipped quietly through the open door, treading quietly to where he was working intensely. Maybe it was the palette of colors he was using – deep red, mixed black, shiny grey – which should have cued me into the fact that this was no ordinary painting. I might have prepared myself better. But as fate would have it, I drifted, unarmed towards Peeta, my only thought being to close the distance between him and I.

That it when I saw it. I staggered back from it, my hand covering my mouth, the taste of vomit pushing its way up my throat.

It was me. But you would never have thought we had spent the last five months trying to be something to the each other. My hair was wild, my eyes slanted, glowing red with a fire that would destroy every good thing in the world. My mouth was unnaturally wide, teeth fanged and a long, slithering tongue seeming to reach beyond the boundaries of the picture. I could almost hear the cackling laughter emanating from the horrible mouth. My fingers were knotted and clawed and I seemed to be emerging from a shiny, charcoal-grey fog.

I was a perfect, Capitol muttation.

I stumbled backwards, knocking over another easel, tripping over the wooden legs. I tried leaving but could not tear my eyes from the horrible sight. _Is this what he saw at night?_

Peeta became aware of me behind him and jumped up at the look on my face. "Katniss, please, it was in my nightmare." His eyes became wild. "They planted images in my mind of you, horrible images." I put my hands to my head and shook it wildly, feeling the world collapsing into a dense, dark void in the middle of my being. He took my arms and tried to lower them, to get me to look at hm. "But I know that isn't you, you have to understand. I know this."

"Except when you have those flashbacks." I choked on the words.

Peeta became quiet, the arms that were trying to reach me collapsing at his side. "But I know it isn't really you." He said this weakly because we both knew that in that state, he did not possess that same conviction.

"It'll never get better." I said despondently.

"No, Katniss, don't say that." Peeta s begged.

"It won't because we'll always be half-dead. And nothing, nothing will bring any of us back!" I shouted, turning on my heel and running out of the room like a wounded wild animal, mindless of the fact that I only wore Peeta's long t-shirt. I didn't stop running until I was out of the house and in the woods, leaving the sound of Peeta desperately calling my name behind me. I knew full well, even when his body was whole he could not keep my pace.

I hurtled through trees, slamming into saplings and stumbling over rocks, scratching my bare feet. I had lost the resistance to run without shoes and my feet soon became bruised and sore. Exhausted, I collapsed at the foot of a thick tree trunk, a tree that had surely been around since the time of the Dark Days. I curled up in a ball and lay there, allowing the dense fog of immobility that had hovered since the black days of my return to District 12 to descend on me and root me to the earth. I kept staring at the canvas, now alive in my mind. I imagined the hissing of the lizard creatures exhaling from my chest as I lay dead to the world. I banged the ground with my fists, writhing in self-loathing. I might as well have put those images in his head myself. When I thought of what else had been forced into his mind, I was no longer able to contain the bile and vomited onto the ground, heaving when I my stomach still continued to pump, even though there was precious little left to push out.

How were we expected to survive this? What force in the universe had decided to demand so much of us? Whatever it was, I hated it, turning my anger outward to the sky, wailing in rage and the desire for self-destruction. It would be so easy to come here with a knife and bleed my horrors onto the forest floor. It would take them days to find me…

But where would that leave Peeta? Damned my weak heart! Just as I could not tolerate abandoning Prim, I could not tolerate the scars that would remain on him if I gave in to the impulse to disappear into the nothing that called to me every moment of my waking life. I had lost the instinct for survival for my own sake but the need to live for the sake of others had not died in that Capitol square. The tethers that bound me to this life easily moved from silk to iron and kept me tied to this vile species, this place where differences were resolved on the backs of children who were then left to pick up the pieces of a squalid world by themselves.

I lay there until the sun began to leave the sky. Though it was a particularly hot summer, these were still mountains and the chill in the air began to invade as soon as the heat of the sun retreated into night. Dizzy from the vomiting, nerves and lack of food, I stumbled back to Victor's Village. I knew that I would not endure my empty house alone and made my way to Peeta's home, come what may. As twilight began to descend, I stopped at Haymitch's instead, putting off the inevitable.

I knocked twice before entering. The usual disarray and foul smell assaulted me as soon as I walked in. I went straight to his sink and rinsed my mouth out right from the tap. I then gulped the water without even bothering with a cup – there was no way of knowing when his dishes had last been cleaned. I turned and found him seated on his sofa, staring mindlessly at the television. He glanced over at me when I entered the living room, a look of shock crossing his face, perhaps at my physical condition. However, he did nothing more than take a long drag from the bottle on his lap.

"Decided to come back, sweetheart? You just missed lover boy. Left a nice wreck behind you this time." He fairly snarled.

"Do you have a little more of that?" I indicated at the bottle. It was a cowardly move to delay my return to Peeta. Haymitch have none of it.

"I'm not much for sharing tonight. Go home." He said simply.

I sat heavily in a wretched chair and refused to move.

Realizing he was not going to get rid of me so easily, Haymitch sighed. The stench of liquor was everywhere and I had to repress the urge to gag from the fumes.

"So, you pulled another disappearing act. You don't take direction very well." He said.

"I've never seen anything so horrible." I said simply.

"And what were you expecting they did to him over there? Plant flowers and rainbows in his mind? Bring him room service every day and leave chocolate on his pillow when they were done? They beat the hell out of him and destroyed his mind. It is only because he is who he is that he was able to put the mess they made back together again. He didn't invent those images. That's what they did to him."

"I know." I said miserably.

"So who do you think you are hurting when your balls aren't hard enough to see the truth of it in your face? You think Peeta just loves having that shit floating around in his head?" He waved his hand in the air for emphasis.

When the tears started to fall, I hated myself for both my weakness and showing it to Haymitch of all people. "What do I do?"

Haymitch took a deep drag from his bottle and softened his tone. "If I had half what the two of you have between you, I wouldn't risk it over a painting, no matter how vile it was. Go make your amends. Likely the way things are, he would forgive you just about anything anyway. Just make it good."

I nodded, wiping my face with my forearm.

I left Haymitch's and walked back to our house, hanging my head. It was pitch black outside, night having finally fallen over District 12. I climbed the steps, my stomach twisted in knots. When I tested the door knob, it was open and I pushed my way in. I expected him to be upstairs already. Instead, I found him in an armchair in the living room, stone-faced, staring at the ground. When I walked in, he did not lift his eyes right away. The frigid tension that emanated from him could freeze rain as it fell.

"Peeta…" I began.

At that, he lifted his eyes to me. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the hard emptiness, the blue of his eyes having turned to ice, tiny lines around his eyes announcing the tension that he held there. Scattered about the floor of the living room were large bits of wood, ribbons of canvas here and there. From the color, I was certain that it was the evil painting of the muttation.

"Sit down." He said quietly.

Taken aback but desiring to make amends, I did not argue and instead took a seat on the sofa. He wasted no time. I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head.

"I've been undergoing treatments all these months to get me to a point where I can remember something of who I was before this whole adventure started. Together with the nightmares I already experienced after the Games, I have flashbacks where the images they planted in my head become reality and I can't always keep them from taking over. I paint what I see, not because it brings me pleasure but because many times, the images I paint will not show up in my mind again." He took a deep breath and rested, so long that I thought he would not speak again. When I was sure he was not going to say anything, he continued.

"I don't know what we are to each other, Katniss, and honestly, I don't care. I am happy when I am with you. I've wanted you for so long that I can't imagine things being any other way. But this is what I am now. It is not going to change because you don't like what I paint. You have to accept that I may never heal completely." His breath became ragged, his face going from stone to agony. "I told you that the worst thing you could do to me was withdraw from me. It's not something I'm equipped to handle anymore."

I knew he was thinking of those six months after the first Game when I showed my clear preference for Gale and ignored him completely. It was his greatest fear, that I would somehow revert back to my indifference and leave him again. He fell silent and I was sure that this time he would not speak again. My face was puffy with all the tears I had shed. I got up from where I was sitting and walked over to him, standing between his knees. He stared down at a fixed point on the floor, his blonde hair flopping over such that I could not see his eyes. I knelt in front of him and put my hands on either side of his face. He tried to move from my grasp but I persisted. "I won't ever do that to you again. Ever." I said with ferocity. He still looked away from me, trying to hide his hurt. When I could get him to cooperate, I placed a chaste kiss on the lips.

"That's the thing. You could do it again. You don't need me like I need you and maybe…" here, his words faltered. "Maybe when you do finally figure that out…" he stopped again, not completing the thought. "And I would take you back every single time but there would be less and less left of me if I did." He sighed, staring at his hands. "I hated my mother most of my life. But I understand her completely now. I see how a person could become that bitter. _I_ could become that bitter but I would also be too weak to let you go. I'm my mother's son in that way."

"No, Peeta." I whispered in desperation. "It won't get to that. I promise. I'm a coward, a stupid, selfish coward. I want all of you, even the broken parts. Please, I feel so responsible for everything. It's not you I'm rejecting when I run off like that. It's me I can't stand. All of this is my fault…"

"Now, see, that's another thing. Would you stop taking the blame for things you can't possibly be responsible for? You didn't choose to go to the Hunger Games, not directly anyway. You didn't ask to become a symbol for the Revolution or for me to be tortured. Stop putting yourself in the middle of things you have no control over. _That_ is a bit selfish. Take responsibility for the things you can control instead."

I sat back on my heel and a terror started to rise up in me. He seemed so _tired_ of everything. I was so used to him being the fighting optimist, never backing down, asserting his right to live that seeing him worn down disoriented me. I wanted Peeta to be happy. This defeated version of him reminded me too much of him during his flashbacks that I could not recognize the Peeta that I loved.

"I don't want to see myself that way, do you understand?" I whispered. "It is too much the way I imagined myself for too long."

He sighed at this, looking over at the side, putting his hand up to his head in an attitude of deep thought. He reached out his other hand and took mine without looking at me, bringing it up to his lips and holding it there. He stood up suddenly, pulling me up with him. "Let's just go upstairs. You need to clean up."

I didn't argue with him, my head a whirl of conflicting feelings. This day simply needed to end.

I walked into the bathroom and took a look at myself. I was filthy – leaves stuck in my hair, scratches down my arms, a huge muddy spot taking up the entire left side of a once serviceable white t-shirt. What stared back at me was not me but a wraith that would be found haunting the dark forest. I was beginning to get light-headed from not eating so I went downstairs to rummage for a snack. I sat quietly eating a sandwich when I heard him walk down the stairs. He peaked over into the kitchen and, seeing me, withdrew again without saying a word. He wanted to know I was still here but did not want me to know that was his purpose.

When I finished my sandwich, I pushed the plate aside and put my head on the table. When would we ever be normal? Was this the normal I should be expecting out of my life – this wheel rolling around and around where sometimes we were at the top, sometimes we crashed quickly to the bottom again? I pondered this as I quickly slipped into sleep before being aware of it and woke only when I felt myself being picked up and carried. I was placed gently on the bed. I almost protested when he withdrew his arms but felt him come around behind me and pull me towards him, squeezing me almost painfully against him. I vaguely sensed the ache in my limbs but once settled drifted off to sleep, kept company in my dreams by the Capitol creation that would pass for me.

**This is part one of a two part installment. **

**Your reviews are gold to me. I look forward to hearing what you think.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello, everyone! I have to give a couple of shout outs on this chapter because I had some great feedback that I think improved this chapter enormously.**

**First off, the most divine SolasVioletta who up and went on vacation on me. How dare her have a life! However, her constant support and feedback have only improved whatever I put in front of her.**

**I owe the last section of this chapter to a review by Kates212, who gave me permission to use her idea. I think Peeta blows it away in this one and it's all thanks to this wonderful, creative reviewer.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Not in our favor by TwilightCakes. I love all of her fanfics but this one takes the idea of The Vow and flips it Everlark style. An absolute must read.**

**Disclaimer: HG is not mine. Oh, and of course, there are citrusy delights in this chapter.**

**Chapter 18 – Portraits: Part 2**

_"An honorable human relationship — that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love" — is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other."_

_" – Adrienne Rich_

When I was about eight years old, I had the first experience that made me understand that adults lived in a world of subtext and I, as a child, was simply moving through the ether of their insinuations, sensing the presence of something I would never be able to grasp. My mother looked the same on the outside – gentle but efficient as she cooked stew for our dinner. She wiped the counters, passed me a cup of water when I asked for it and wiped a smudge of dirt off of Prim's face. My father walked into our small house and he too, was the same – shoulders a bit bent from work, a brightening of his eyes when he saw me and Prim and the kiss, the tiny kiss he always placed on my mother's cheek when he came home. But when he brushed his lips over her cheek, instead of the indulgent air that mom always seemed to have when he performed this nightly gesture, her eyes slid away from his, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. It was like staring at the still of a film where everything seemed off by a shade from the surrounding frames. While it was rolling, no one could catch the distortion but I had become observant even from a young age. I sensed that for a time, the earth had shifted ever so much from its center.

That was my life with Peeta after I saw the muttation painting. Something had shifted and there was a wariness that had not been there before. He watched me out of the corners of his eyes, a reserve having fallen over him like a shield – a shield against me. I was skittish, especially when I woke, wondering what version of me he had seen that night and I read in all of his movements the suspicion that he was no longer seeing me, Katniss Everdeen, 18 years old, from District 12, reaped twice for the Hunger Games, on and on and on. I feared he no longer knew me or perhaps _I_ no longer knew myself. It had gotten to where I recognized myself in his eyes and when they clouded over, with his fear, I lost that path to myself and became disoriented.

I cooked alongside of him but when my arm brushed his, instead of provoking more affection, he seemed to recoil into himself. When I undressed for bed each evening, he simply turned to look at a point in space, taking care to place his eyes anywhere but on me. He spoke to me as normal, took my hand when we walked to town. He dispensed a kiss in the morning and a kiss in the evening as one would dole out fever medicine to the sick. He consulted with me on the bakery, including me in every decision. We visited architects and examined ovens, countertops, endless granite and oceans of steel. We ate our meals in silence, the occasional comment about the bakery, the garden, what we had seen in town. We had returned to the world of superficialities and inconsequential things while beneath, the foundation was cracking.

Peeta began to rise from bed earlier each day, one day to paint, another day to bake. His arms still held me at night against my nightmares. But the flame that drew him to me had somehow sputtered out and we did not touch each other beyond the necessity of keeping one another rooted to this plane. He had flashbacks and I held him, sang to him, drew him back to me. I raged and screamed and he soothed me back from the purgatory of the walking dead. But he held back – or maybe it was me – from doing much more. I didn't know how to cross that chasm without the terror that he would say no and I would have no choice but to go home and dissolve into a million pieces. Fear had taken up residence in our bed.

By week's end, I was beside myself with the strangeness of the space we allowed between us. My conversation with Dr. Aurelius resided firmly in the realm of the theoretical. "Talk to him." He said. "Write what you want him to know first so that you will be sure that he hears you, then repeat what he tells you so that he knows you are listening also." _Okay, doc. _Except that every time I opened my mouth, terror seized it shut. At least, as we were now, I could hover about him, a satellite in waiting. But if I took a leap and asked and was then refused, then I would not be able to undo my knowing. I did not want to take the risk of that certainty and so we continued this dance until I thought I would suffocate from the politeness.

Again, the universe delivered its rare sort of gift. The phone rang one morning, a strange sound in our house. When I picked it up, I almost burst from the sound of her rough, vulgar, voice.

"Hey brainless!"

"Johanna!" I felt a surge of joy, a mindless happiness at speaking to my insane friend. "How are you?"

"I've got a fleet of shrinks so far up my ass, they wipe my nose for me." She cackled. "I heard you guys are re-opening the bakery. Congratulations! Thought for sure you would have offed each other by now."

Had it been anyone else but her, I might have been offended. "We're okay here. Why don't you come and see us?" I asked, suddenly longing with all of my heart to have her here with me.

"As soon as these fruitcakes say it's okay, I'll be on the first train over. What are you guys up to?"

I told her about the bakery, Haymitch's infernal geese, Dr. Aurelius' sessions, the rebuilding of the town, the Day of Remembrance monuments, the extra-hot summer. I described the memory book and its purpose, asking for a picture if she had one to spare. Everything seemed lighter, less tragic somehow with Johanna. Maybe because she was so irreverent, the things that would normally make me shatter were just more grist for her sense of the absurd. She was also, without fail, one of the most astute people I knew.

"So, how's everything with Peeta? You didn't mention him once."

I lapsed into silence. Where did I start?

"It's kind of quiet out there, brainless. You guys together or what? You know, I did call your house like seventeen times before calling Peeta." She huffed and I could see her crossing her arms, her head tilted to one side, waiting for me to answer.

"We've been living together for a few months." I whispered. I felt a sense of nausea creeping up on me again. It dawned on me again how much I missed the way things had been just a few short weeks ago.

"Well, damn, don't make it sound like a funeral. Generally, that's a good thing between two people, right?"

I shook my head. "No, it's not that at all. It's been…" I paused, looking down at my hands. "...amazing."

Johanna paused as she listened, genuinely befuddled. "So, why do you sound like you just lost your best friend?"

How good was she? "Maybe I did." I was getting emotional and wanted to change the conversation but she wasn't having any of it.

"Spit it out, K. What's going on?"

I told her about the flashbacks, my hiding in rooms, our nightmares, the picture - especially the picture and my reaction - the frozen blanket that had fallen over our lives since then. I found it hard to describe the suffocating gentility that had become our relationship. How neither of us was able to overcome it and now we lived like roommates.

"Are you guys intimate?" she probed.

"We…were." I whispered.

"What do you mean, you were?"

I took a deep breath. "After that portrait…we haven't…we don't…"

I almost see Johanna rubbing her face in frustration. "Katniss! Okay. Relationship Killer number 5: You stop fucking. You don't do that. Even if he's Saint Peeta, he's still a guy. They live for that shit. You can't just give him that and then take it away. Crazy things happen to their minds when you do that - and Peeta's already a crack case to begin with."

"Johanna…" I warned.

"No, I'm not trying to insult him. Peeta's the best. But I'm sure he's a little screwy after what happened to him. Trust me. I was there. You have got to get this situation under control." There, she was wagging her finger at me.

"But he's not even, you know, he doesn't even try…" I began.

"Because he's Peeta! When would he ever force himself on you?"

My mind became fuzzy with frustrated longing as I thought of the time he wrestled me down, our laughter turning to something much darker as he pinned my hands over my head. The thought of it made everything south of my belly melt like hot chocolate. The silence on the other end of was punctuated by a snapping sound coming through the phone.

"Earth to K? I don't even want to know where you just went." She exclaimed with frustration. "Actually, I kind of do want to know but not now. If things are like you say, don't wait for him to initiate things. He is probably super afraid of rejection. I mean, isn't this what all of it is about?"

"I'm afraid too, you know." I whispered.

"Like Peeta would ever say no to you!"

"He would if he didn't trust me." I looked at the veins in my hand, becoming lost in my thoughts.

"K?"

"Johanna, he doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm going to run off in the woods and not come back again." I said this with infinite sadness.

Johanna let out a deep breath. "Relationship Killer number 1: You don't trust each other. That's a hard one to get over, you know. It just takes time. It might even require some dramatic act on your part, K."

"What, saving his life in the arena wasn't enough? Living with him isn't enough, when he dreams I'm trying to kill him every night?" Now I was starting to get angry. It was always my fault, poor Peeta in Katniss' evil hand. I suddenly didn't like this script anymore.

"Hey, I get it. Peeta gets a lot of sympathy and it probably sucks for you because you've got your issues too. Right? What's your hang-up then?" Johanna was trying to pacify me.

I exploded. "My hang-up is I'm not some fucking fanged, slithering, hissing lizard bitch monster that the Capitol put in his mind and I don't always enjoy waking up next to someone who has to remember who the hell I am every fucking morning of our life together, Johanna!"

The other end of the phone went silent for a moment before she burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. "Ahhhh! Katniss Everdeen cussed four times in one breath!" She could barely breath, she was laughing that hard. Her laughter faded while I heard a fumbling sound, then a shuffle as her laughter came from the background to the phone again. "Sorry, I fell on my ass, I was laughing so hard. That was fucking amazing!" She laughed even harder.

I tried not to smile; then the giggling came, leading to an open-mouthed laugh that took over me, washing out my anger, taking away all the uptight tension of the last weeks until I was breathless. The door of the study opened slightly and I saw my favorite blond head peek in to look. He smiled at me, a genuine smile for once. I waved and mouthed "Johanna." He simply nodded and whispered, "Tell her I said hello."

"Okay." I mouthed as he closed the door, my chuckles still rolling out of me. Turning back to the phone, I said between chuckles "Peeta says hello."

Johanna stopped laughing for a moment. "He's not listening to this conversation, is he?"

I perked up. "No, he just heard me laugh and was checking on me."

"Is it really that strange to hear you laughing?" She paused before changing tack. "Hey, so has he ever heard you swear before?"

I was taken aback by the question. "Maybe once or twice. Why?"

Johanna giggled. "Guys love that. You know, when you're right there, ready to come…"

"Johanna!" I said in shock, dropping down to a whisper. "And then what…?"

She laughed again. "I love you, bimbo! So, when you're ready to, you know, explode, you should be like "Fuck me hard." Especially since you're so uptight, he'll never see it coming. I'm telling you, he'll blow his load right then and there."

"No, maybe Peeta wouldn't like that…" I said this more out of the habit of modesty than out of true conviction.

"I'll eat my hat if he even lasts a minute after that. Peeta? He totally wants to be a freak."

"You're disgusting." I laughed despite myself.

"You have no idea." She whispered, becoming semi-serious again. "Those real sweet, sensitive types? They want to let loose so bad, they don't even know it." She paused. "You guys are all weird right now but you've got him by the balls and you don't even know it. You said Haymitch is always fussing at you when stuff happens. That's because he knows that Peeta is at your feet, Katniss. And Peeta knows it too. Even if he had been a normal guy, you would be in control. But Peeta was pussy-whipped before you even said 'hello'. You aren't used to that yet so when you do stuff, it hurts him ten times more than it would hurt anybody else. Your little mistake becomes all dramatic. But you could also make him ten times happier if you played it right. That's what you want, right? To make him happy?"

"More than anything else." I felt my heart pouring into every word, the laughter evaporating. "I love him so much, Jo." I whispered.

She sighed. "Then get yourself pretty and make him happy. That's all he wants – to be needed. That way he knows you won't be going anywhere else. And you make sure he doesn't have to go anywhere else either. Peeta's a hot ticket and you have to make sure he's on lock too."

The idea that I would have to compete with anyone over Peeta's affections was so disarming, I pushed it out of my head. "Sex can't be the solution. Our problems are too complicated to be solved that way." I protested.

"Yeah, okay, I know their complicated. But sex is just a key to get you in the door with guys. If you have a problem with them, just think: feed or fuck. Then you can work on solving the harder stuff."

I wasn't sure about her reductionist take on gender relations but most of her other advice made sense to me. "Okay, okay, I get it." I shook my head and just laughed at her.

We lapsed into silence at that point. I was already feeling sentimental about letting her go. "Just come see me, okay?"

"No problem, brainless. They want to see me take a whole bath, bubbles and all, before they'll sign off on me. Perves."

I laughed again at her. "I doubt it's just because they want to see you naked, Jo."

"One of them does. Hot intern, fresh off the Capitol train, loves to be tied up." I could almost hear her smacking her lips.

I was completely aghast. "Aren't there rules against that kind of stuff?"

"I have a thing for psychoanalysts. What can I say?"

"Well, just get yourself released from treatment. You know you don't even have to tell us when you're coming. Just show up. We have tons of space." I begged.

"Alright." She paused. "Keep me posted on things, okay?"

"Okay." I hung up the phone, the plan already forming in my head.

**XXXXX**

That evening, after we'd cleaned the dinner dishes, I retreated to the bedroom without a word. My preparations took very little time. I debated on the intricate braid that I used only on very special occasions but opted instead for the loose look that Peeta preferred. The short, peach-colored silk robe felt like the whisper of a spring breeze on my cream-softened skin. I shivered slightly from the cool fabric but I endured it. The color made my skin glow and of all the lovely things Cinna had made for me, this was one of my preferred.

I stepped out of the room and became a hunter again, standing still, feeling the vibration of the house move through me. I reached out to him through the walls and floor until I heard him moving in his studio. Despite my nervousness, my blood quickened, the gripping feeling not unlike the one I experienced when I hunted. I walked lightly, the steps that I knew he would not hear until I was upon him, looking over his shoulder as he primed another canvass for painting. I gently placed a hand on his neck, feeling the skin long withheld from me, the pads of my fingers heating up. He jumped slightly before realizing it was me.

There it was - the wariness. He turned only slightly before looking back at his canvas.

I put my lips close to his ear. "Paint me." I whispered, my voice shaking.

"What do you mean?" he turned towards me, his face so close our noses almost touched. He pulled back and took me in for the first time, a flush of pink racing up his neck and over his skin.

"Trust me." I said as I placed a kiss on his cheek.

I walked over to a settee against the wall and dragged it closer to the easel. Pointing at it, I said "I'll lay there."

He looked at me as if debating something. "Okay. Just, um, lay down and I'll adjust the easel."

Before our crisis, I had brought several items from the "wedding trousseau" Cinna designed for me. From my collection, I'd pulled out a beautiful, peach colored lace underwear and bra set. The bra somehow magically made by breast look larger. The underwear were nothing more than ribbons holding a small piece of triangle in place over my most intimate part, one ribbon running right up between my cheeks. A small tug of the bows on each side would pull the entire confection apart. I chose the set because, like the robe, I loved the color against my skin. I undid the sash and let the robe fall from my shoulders. He was still priming his canvas and so did not notice me until he looked up. His eyes widened in shock as he gripped the paint brush. Feeling his eyes burn over my skin, I suddenly felt shy before him.

I began to settle myself on the settee when a sudden inspiration seized me, the thought of it igniting my nerve endings. It was a cheap shot but I decided that I was not beneath any tactic when my survival was at stake. And Peeta was my survival. Begging for courage, I turned to fluff the pillow, giving Peeta a full view of the delicate design of my underwear. With my back turned to him, I straightened up and reached behind, unhooking my gorgeous bra. There was a clattering as I heard the brush fall from his hands and the shuffling as he went to retrieve it. I slid it off of my arms and let it drop to the ground. I wasn't sure if it was the air or the fact of my nakedness but my breast began to ache, the nipples growing painfully rigid.

But I wasn't done yet.

I tugged at the delicate ribbons on each side of my hips until the ties became undone. I pulled the fragile fabric away from me and cast them away also. It was all I could do to not run away in shame. And yet, over my shoulder, I could hear him whisper my name and a competing sense of satisfaction rose up in me. It shamed me but at that moment, I came into my power over Peeta. I could push him away but I could also bind him to me definitively and the manipulative, calculating part of me that I sometimes loathed became my ally.

Even so, it was hard to make eye contact with him, my arms finding nowhere to rest. The air was so still I was sure I could make out Peeta's beating heart across the room, a thundering sound rising over the rushing of blood in my ears. I let a few moments pass before adjusting myself onto the settee. Here, I was without inspiration. My body was all angles and bones needing to be smoothed out- not unlike my character - I needed him to soften the edges. "Pose me, Peeta. How do you want me?"

"Katniss, if I told you how I wanted you, you would run screaming out of this room." He murmured.

_If only._ I simply laughed awkwardly, the lightness of his words betrayed by the seriousness in his exquisite blue eyes. He walked towards me, fully dressed, rendering me more vulnerable before him. Gently, he adjusted my hair, lingering over it as if he had never seen them before. He smoothed them over my shoulders, letting his fingers glide like feathers over my arms before taking my wrists, putting them over my head so it gave the impression that I had fallen on the settee. Swallowing hard, he grasped my legs firmly, moving them to the side, slightly bent. I had a sordid vision of him sinking his head between my knees which provoked a rush of wetness there, my knees longing to open to him. He let his hands linger on my thigh as he adjusted them carefully, moving his large hands up to my hips to angle them towards the easel.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, his breath short.

I only trusted myself to nod. He stood up and walked stiffly back to his stool, taking up a palette and mixing the paints. As he moved his brush over the canvas, I felt each stroke over my skin. I couldn't really see what he was painting but I sensed he began with the background, then the settee before outlining my figure. He switched brushes and did the more intense work of detailing me. His face took on that delicious look of concentration that he had when he was immersed in creating something. I slowly began to relax and felt my eyes drift shut. I was in his hands in every way, which both aroused and soothed my frayed nerves. In a land somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, the time drifted by, the only sound our breathing and the swish of his brush against the canvas.

The sound of the brush clanking the edge of a jar of water announced when he was finished. He sat back and looked at his work, then shifted the easel towards me. I felt a rush of heat to my face at the sight of me naked. What arrested most was the look on my face, the hooded eyes, a look of invitation that I could not believe I'd ever worn before. But I recognized the desire, the need in my eyes, the way my body begged for him. It was provocative, embarrassing and arousing all at the same time and I looked at him, willing him to come to me.

Perhaps because even his own incredible limits had finally been reached, he got up and walked over to me. I didn't move, watching him as he stood before me, looking down at me with an intense, unreadable look on his face. I understood he was waiting for me to move, wordlessly inquiring if the invitation was real. I got up slowly, gathering my legs beneath me and straightening up on my knees. I reached my hands out and opened the closure of his pants, drawing the zipper down slowly. His arms remained limp at his sides as I tugged his pants and shorts over his knees and let them pool at his feet. He may have been still but the evidence of his arousal was clear. Boldly, I reached out and took him in my hands, gently running them over his shaft, feeling the way the texture changed from soft and veiny to taut and shiny. I slipped one hand under and caressed his sack, looking directly into his eyes as they darkened, fixed on me as I placed small kisses along the tip. I traveled slowly down his shaft, letting my lips run lazily over his upper thighs and belly. I continued to pump him firmly but gently with one hand, the other hand holding his thigh just under the curve of his buttock. The hiss of air he released was my encouragement as I took him into my mouth, my tongue running over the tip and down, taking as much of him into my mouth as possible. Almost against his will, his hips buckled into me and I felt his hands in my hair, guiding me. Soon I was sucking in earnest, his resolve unraveling as he began to moan, whispering my name. I could feel the tightening as he tried to withdraw from my mouth but I gave a tight shake of my head and held on. He groaned loudly as his released emptied into my mouth and I suppressed the instinct to gag, taking him into me until he slid out of my lips again.

I looked up at the unspoken apology in his eyes. "It's been so long." He gave by way of explanation.

"Too long." I said, reaching up to put my arms around his neck. His own arms wrapped around my waist and held me tightly to him. He kicked off his shoes and pants and lifted me up against him, crushing his lips furiously against mine, one hand wrapped almost painfully in my hair. Something seemed to snap inside of him as he pulled back to look at me. "Oh god, Katniss!" He pushed me back down onto the settee, ripping his shirt off and kissed me again, kneading my breast with his hand as he lay bodily on me, pinning me to the cushions. I was delirious with want, the stress of withholding myself making my entire body rigid with need. I was wet, throbbing painfully and completely uninterested in foreplay. Needing him inside of me, I reached down to grab him and aligned my hips with his. His need to take me was clear as he sank roughly into me, his penetration made painful from his absence, his mouth covering my gasp of shock. I grabbed his buttocks and pulled him as deeply as he could go, bucking my hips to reach a rhythm that would satisfy my hunger. I had missed him so much, I couldn't get close enough to him. His hand went between my legs and rubbed me in that place he knew would bring me to the brink but I pushed his hand away, grinding myself into him instead.

"I don't want anything else, just you." I said impatiently.

He lifted his head to look at my face, a feral gleam entering his eyes as he became something other than my lover. He pulled back again, his arms going under my thighs so that my knees ended up somewhere around my shoulders and rammed himself into me, sweat breaking out over his back and neck. "Katniss, where have you been?" he groaned between bared teeth. He panted with the intensity and I felt myself falling over the edge, his name ripped from my chest, my entire body trembling from weeks of pent up frustration.

"Where have _you_ been?" At this, tears of anger forced their way out of my eyes as I arched my back, feeling myself contract around him, pulling him into me. "Peeta!" I yelled. I didn't care about the open window, the impropriety of abandoning myself in this way. I was beyond caring about anything but keeping the wall of ice from coming down between us again. My own abandon sped him to his end as he fell apart, releasing himself inside of me.

My tears did not stop. Peeta's face twisted in concern, his hand coming up to wipe away the tears I no longer tried to control. "Hey. What's this? Was I too rough?" He seemed panicky as I gave way to more tears, releasing weeks of unhappiness. I was lost in my longing for him and I simply held him to me as I emptied myself, shaking my head.

"I've missed this, damn you." I whispered between my sobs.

He rained kisses on my forehead, my wet cheeks, my chin. "Me too." He said between his kisses. "These were the worst weeks of my life." He confessed in my ear.

My sobs became those hiccups that I hated so much. "I don't ever want to experience that again. Ever. You don't want me to withdraw from you but what did you go and do?" I was angry at this point, slamming my fist into his shoulder.

He flinched but still held on to me. "I just…I got scared. You scare the hell out of me, Katniss. You could destroy me, do you understand? I guess I thought if I protected myself, it wouldn't be so bad if you did decide you had had enough, if everything that was wrong with me became too much for you." He rolled off of the settee and sat on the floor with his back to me. "I'm pathetic, Katniss, the way I love you." He let a long breath out of his lungs.

I sank down to the floor with him. "Peeta, try to trust me. I know I make it hard sometimes but it's hard for me to know you can look at me sometimes and not know who you have in front of you." I shuddered when I thought of the painting that set off this crisis. "That horrible painting is not me..." he started to protest but I didn't let him interrupt. "…but I know at any given moment, you are thinking of me and seeing _that_." I grabbed his chin to turn his head towards me. "But in no moment does it occur to me to leave you because of that." I put my head on his shoulder, reveling in the feel of his skin, the strong rhythm of his heartbeat. "Maybe this painting can replace that other one."

He nodded at this.

"Fight with me, Peeta. Argue. Scream. Do anything. But let's not ever do what we did to each other again." I hissed fiercely. "Promise me." I begged him.

He looked at me with those bottomless pools of blue and nodded. "I promise."

He pulled me towards him and gave me a deep, searching kiss. I straddled him, feeling him harden again and my need for him rose to meet him. Without wasting a moment, I mounted him, feeling him slide into me again, a moan of satisfaction escaping me. He held my hips and stopped me. "You're sure I didn't hurt you? You would tell me, wouldn't you…?"

I shook my head as I began to ride him. "Oh, shut up, Peeta and just fuck me."

The look of exquisite shock that crossed his face would be etched in my mind forever.

We didn't sleep that night, lost to each other as if we'd never made love to each other before. We gave each other things that I still have no words for and molded the truth of ourselves to the other until there was only one reality left: underneath all of the trauma and pain and tortures, there was something of us left to give, that it would always terrify us to be in this way with each other. Despite our terror, we gave ourselves to each other with the care that only two fractured souls who understood real loss could find to give.

**XXXXX**

"Come upstairs with me." He said one cool early autumn night.

Looking up at him, I didn't question him. I was slowly learning to stop questioning him and simply follow wherever he led me. I placed my hand in his extended one and followed him up to his studio.

Without a word, he opened the door. In the middle of the room, there were seven easels arranged in a semi-circle, covered in tarps. I looked at him, curiosity written across my face.

He walked to the first easel and removed the tarp. It was a painting of a girl from the back, two long, perfect braids, a dress of plain plaid stretched across her scrawny frame. Her hand was raised high as she seemed to tower over the other school children in the picture. All eyes were trained on her as she seemed to stretch her hand beyond the limits of her childish arms.

"You, when you volunteered for to sing the Valley Song."

My breath hitched in my chest as I took in the details of the painting before letting him lead me to the next easel.

I could feel the cool rain splattering from the painting, another girl seemingly too thin to be upright with a loaf of bread in her hands. She looked down at it as if it were a newborn, her nails dirty, her clothes plastered to her tiny frame. And yet her skin was luminous, the profile of her downturned face the physical center of the painting.

"You, when I tossed you the bread."

"Oh, Peeta…" I began but he put his lips to my mouth to silence me.

"Just look." He whispered. I simply nodded.

The third easel was the same girl, somewhat older, standing in the middle of a group of people. Her arms were stretched out in an attitude of defense, a smaller blond girl with pigtails standing behind her, clinging to her. There was determination and fear in the face of the older girl, silver grey eyes fixed upwards, mouth open in mid-speech. The details of her intricate braid were so vivid, I thought I could reach across to capture a dark tendril in my fingers.

"You, when you volunteered as tribute."

He led me to the next easel. A girl with a brown braid bent over a leg, the perspective that of the person whose leg she tended. Her bow and arrow lay close to her knee. He had not spared one speck of dirt, one dried drop of blood. And yet there it was, the luminosity of her face the only point of light in the painting. Even the look of grim concentration could not mitigate the glow of her dirty skin. Her hands seemed to work delicately yet purposefully over the wound, one lip pinched between her teeth.

"You, in the cave."

In the next painting, there was that same girl, wrapped in the arms of a blond boy on a bed in a darkened room, a small window open to the night. I knew that room well. She held her hands over her head while he clung onto her, the tenacity of his love evident even in that small act. The bed sheets outlined their intertwined bodies, a fleeting seam of lines revealing the shorter impression of his amputated leg.

"You, in the train during the Victory Tour."

I could not stop my tears at this point. I was overwhelmed by what he had done. But he would not stop his tour as he pulled the next tarp away. It was that same girl, on a beach. Two hands were placing a necklace with a locket around her neck. Again, the perspective was that of the gift-giver, his arms reaching around the neck of the girl, her face staring with pain and exquisite gentleness at the giver. One small hand was curled softly over the arm of the boy, the false moon of the arena glowing over her left shoulder.

"You, in the Quarter Quell."

The girl in the next painting was nothing like the girls before. She was dressed in a uniform, a Mockingjay symbol imprinted into the breast plate. The scene was an inferno and she was on one knee, releasing a flaming arrow into the sky. There was a ferocity to her face that was absent from the other paintings. She was not a person, but a symbol, a bird ready to take flight.

"You, in a propos for the Revolution."

Finally, in the last painting, was that same girl. The painting was of her as she walked through a garden, her back to the observer. In her profile was a soft smile as her hands gently skimmed the tomato plants on each side. There was the insinuation of the patchwork skin on her arms but they seemed to flow like silk ribbons, more ornamental than ugly. She wore a yellow dress with green butterflies floating in patterns and was barefoot, her foot caught in mid step so that the arch was visible to the observer. The day was a bright summer day, the light so sunny it seemed to lighten the room we were in despite the darkness of night. Her dark hair was loose and gently blowing in a soft wind.

"You in District 12." He said.

I neared the last painting, the colors begging to be touched. There was no way to define what I felt at that moment. "Peeta, is this what you've been working on all this time?" I murmured.

He turned me towards him, taking my braid in is hands and caressing it. "I wanted you to know that I see you. Whenever you doubt that, come here and know all the ways I love you."

My breath froze in my lungs. I would write this day in September, the day he took all my doubts and fears brushed them away. I put my hands on each side of his face. "What did I do right to earn you?" I whispered.

He smiled as he drew me into his arms, resting his chin on my head. "I don't know, Katniss. You just showed up. Isn't that how it's always been?"

**XXXXX**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I was one of my more difficult chapters to write.**

**Please, wonderful reviewers, give me your feedback!**


	19. Chapter 19

**I apologize for being so slow to post this week – my goal is usually two updates per week but RL has soundly kicked my behind and I am just now getting this out.**

**I now have a tumbr account: titania522****. Hit me up if you want to chat about this story, Everlark, the new CF film or anything else you like. I will post a preview for Chapters 20 this week. I will also list the Fanfic recs that I have been putting out with this story. There are some really amazing writers out there!**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Gravity by Nomoreblack. Katniss learns there is a lot more to Peeta than she thinks.**

**I have been dying to write a couple of chapters from Haymitch's point of view so enjoy!**

**Chapter 19 – You can't win for losing (Haymitch's POV, Part 1)**

_The Capitol is still trying to kill me._

There was no other explanation for this piss water that was trying to pass for liquor. Someone must have watered down the Capitol shipment because I couldn't even rinse my mouth out with the stuff. In fact, I could make bootleg liquor better than this, if I was sufficiently motivated. But, of course, I'm not. It was one of a handful of advantages that was part of being a victor. Your life could be pulverized, your family wiped out but you could have all the drugs, sex and alcohol you needed to drown it all out. Drugs were too complicated and sex required me to actually take my clothes off so I settled into drinking. And fuck, did I need a serious drink now.

Uncapping one of the shitty bottles, I downed a quarter of it without taking a breath. Yep, that should do it for now. I looked out the window, the sun just rising over the trees. A glance over at Peeta's revealed that the downstairs lights were already on. Damn kid was already up, probably baking a cake. Shouldn't complain, though. He basically kept me fed. I appreciated having him and Katniss as neighbors, even if I would never tell them. Their antics were better than any of the schmaltz that passed as Capitol programming these days. No more "objectifying" through gratuitous sex and violence. After the fall of the regime, the pendulum had swung from extravagant to just plain insipid. I could live without the violence – I'd had enough to last 100 lifetimes. But the lack of on screen sex was irritating for someone who hadn't had it in so long. It really didn't' matter, though; I probably couldn't get the old wanker up anyway. I took a peek down my pants eyeing my long disused man-parts.

_You don't even know what District you're living in, do you?_

I snapped my pants back into place. When you start talking to your dick, it's a pretty clear sign that it's time to go to sleep.

**XXXXX**

I woke to the opening of my front door. I snapped upright, instinctively swiping the air with the knife I always slept with. Taking a deep breath, I lowered my head back down onto the worn sofa. I rarely went to bed upstairs – what was the point? Looking over at the kitchen, I saw Peeta clearing a spot on the table for a loaf of bread. Taking a knife out of his apron, he sliced it and placed it on a plate.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" he asked as he walked over to where I was. Always the same question.

"When's the last time you cooked?" I growled out the usual answer.

Peeta chuckled at this and handed me the plate. It was a piece of the nut bread I liked so much.

"Now this is why I keep you around." I said as I took a bite out of the bread.

Peeta waved his hand in the air, trying to clear it. "You really need to brush your teeth more often. "

"I'm on a liquid diet. Don't use them very often." I said between bites.

Peeta walked back to the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb. "I think I'll stand back here."

"Good. I don't want you trying to feel me up. I'm not Katniss, you know. Always hanging all over each other, you are."

"No worries. I could never confuse the two of you." he said. I noticed the twinkling in his bright blue eyes, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"What's your deal? Did you just get laid or something?" I eyed him suspiciously.

Peeta just laughed. "Or something." he teased.

I looked at him again, taking in his appearance. He looked healthy and filled out, his body the picture of youth and vitality. Even his hair was trimmed – amazing that he'd let Katniss get close to him with anything sharp. His cheeks were still ruddy, even though the summer had sunken into autumn and the air had started to cool. Beats the hell out of the way he was when he first got here. He'd lost that haunted look, gaunt face and bags under the eyes. Things were good between him and Katniss and I was happy, though I'd never tell him that.

"Okay, out with it. What are you all perky about?"

"We're getting a visitor."

"Really? That's the first I've heard." I was thoroughly enjoying this bread.

"That's a surprise. We got a call last night from a certain person who is just _dying_ to see us. She heard about the bakery opening and just couldn't resist a trip to see her _favorite lovebirds_." He said the words with a certain inflection and my skin started to crawl. I almost choked on my bread when the realization hit me.

"You're joking."

"Nope. She'll be here at the end of the week and we are all going to have a _big, big day_ together." He waved his hands for emphasis, barely containing his mirth at my increasing discomfort. _Little shit_.

Aw, fuck. Not Effie.

"That's what you get when you save people's lives. They don't ever go away." I grumbled. Bad things happen in threes right? The liquor. Effie. The booze was not going to be strong enough for this one.

"She's getting the house next to you ready for her visit. There'll be some folks over today tidying it up, just so you know." He said, a grin splitting his face. His shoulders began to shake with repressed laughter.

And that was number three. "What the hell is so funny!?" I spat. My appetite had fled and I pushed the plate with the bread across the coffee table.

"It's just going to be so much fun to watch. For once, Katniss and I won't be providing the entertainment." He pushed himself off of the door frame he was leaning against. "You want Greasy Sae to come do something about this pigsty? Effie will have a breakdown if she sees the condition of this house."

"Hey, we worked together for years. She knows my ways. Anyway, maybe if it's dirty, she'll stay away." I grumbled angrily, then sighed. "Yeah, you might as well get her over here."

"Fine. Katniss will be hunting while I go to town to see about ordering the mixers. Come have lunch with us." Peeta asked sincerely.

Even irritated, I wasn't going to turn down a home-cooked meal. "Usual time?" I muttered.

"Yep. See you then." He wrapped up the bread and left.

I ran my hand through my hair, my fingers getting caught in the tangles. The last time I saw Effie, she was still traumatized by almost having to stand trial with Ceasar Flickaman, Claudius Templesmith and other Capitol folks directly involved in the Games. Now, she was working with Capitol Productions, organizing people's lives. As much as I knew she was curious about the bakery and had a real affection for Katniss and Peeta, I suspected that her visit was more than just for them. She might come off as a ditz but she was also shrewd. She had perfected the art of Capitol superficiality.

True to Peeta's word, a cleaning team came in to prepare the house next door. I watched as they shook out rugs, dusted and mopped, tidied up the porch and brought in food and other supplies. The longer they worked, the worse my mood became. The probability that this might be a joke became smaller and smaller with every moment the cleaning team spent prepping the house.

Now, Effie and I got along, for the most part. After years of sending kids off to die, you create a kind of uneasy peace. There was a lot between us that we didn't share, partly because she didn't seem inclined to do the kind of deep thinking for a conversation of that kind but also because I really did not need to hash out how fucked up the world was with anyone. I was pretty clear on what was going on and my role in it so what was there to talk about really? And anyway, I was busy working a revolution. I had no time to try to figure out what was going on in that tie-dyed head of hers.

I dozed off on the armchair. I would later regret not downing the rest of the bottle of liquor. As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw her. The long, straight dark hair, the gleaming grey eyes that had a bluish tint to them – they swallowed up my vision. She was so young, only 16 but then, in my dreams, I'm young also. I'm back to the days before the reaping signified the end of her life. She had some mixed blood in her because even with the stamp of hunger typical of the Seam, her skin was clear and light, not olive colored like most. Her neck was long and her legs endless. I remembered everything about her – from the pads of her smooth feet to the round face and chin with a tiny cleft. How soft her stomach felt when I put my cheek against it, the way her skin smelled like wood and coal and mint leaves. Even in my dream, I could feel my chest clench and hoped I would wake soon. Like _now_. If I didn't, it would start – the longing that I would never be able to satisfy, the hunger for her. I tried to talk my way out of it, tried to back away but the lack of real booze locked me into my brain, deepening my sleep. I could feel a panic rise up far away from my vision as I struggled to leave.

I didn't want to feel this again. I didn't want to spend the next day walking around, looking for her even in the acorns that the trees tossed to the ground. Damned Capitol scum! An eternity could pass but it would never get better. I missed her as if she had just left. And there it was. The punch in the gut. My dream-self went to her, felt the substance of her. After all of these years, my body still remembered what she felt like tucked under my chin. I knew this dream well – had some variation of it repeatedly over the years. I knew what would come next so I clung to her, let my fingers run over her face, teasing her lips with my forefinger. I was gentler then, more tender. It was easier for me to be vulnerable. When I bent to kiss her, we were a pair of two young lips moving against the other.

And just like that, she began to evaporate. Just as I was getting my fill of her, she was snatched away from me because of the manner of my survival, my audacity at daring to live at all costs. But isn't that why I was sent into the arena? I used to rage in my dreams, calling to Clarissa. I would spend the whole night away, searching the dark clouds of sleep for her. I knew better now than to fret in that way. I wouldn't find her. I didn't even bother to look. I just let the vision envelope me like a cloud of ash and smoke until my eyes opened to the empty world again.

When I sat up, I grabbed the bottle and downed the rest of it in one gulp.

**XXXXX**

I took my time walking over to Peeta's house since it was still early. I almost decided to just stay home after my dream but I knew that would only lead to more brooding, which would sour my mood further. The geese were rowdy today so I retied the gate to keep them from running all over the Village. As I walked up the steps, the smell of baked fish wafted out of the slightly open door. I pushed my way through, closing the door carefully behind me, following the promise of a delicious meal. My stomach growled at the scent and I was so distracted by it, I was half-way into kitchen before I saw them. Peeta was pinned up against the refrigerator by Katniss, her hand _way_ down his pants. They kissed furiously, Peeta's hands all over her. They were so intent on their efforts that they didn't notice me standing there.

_Oh, I was going to enjoy this._

"You guys start the buffet early?" I said, making sure I spoke as loud as possible without actually screaming. Katniss must have jumped at least 2 feet of the ground and Peeta's face became so red, I thought he was going to blow an artery. Yeah, this was the stuff I lived for.

"I'll wait over here." I chuckled as I walked to the living room. "Don't forget to wash your hands."

"Don't you know how to knock?" sputtered Peeta from the kitchen.

"Don't you know how to close the door?" I retorted.

I could hear them shuffling, putting themselves together. In between, I heard Katniss murmuring angrily, punctuated by Peeta's attempts to pacify her. It was clear she'd left the door open, obviously in a hurry to get her hands on him from the looks of things. They were sweet that way. How many times had I caught them making out in the garden or on the porch? But this here was priceless.

Seated at the table later on, Katniss passed the fish without making eye contact. I worked carefully around the bones. "It's good." I said between bites. "But I bet yours tastes better." I tossed it to her, getting ready to rile her up.

Her fork clattered to the plate, a flush running up from her neck to her cheeks. "Can't you just eat?" she muttered .

"It's a miracle I _can_ eat. I think I might be too traumatized." I poked further.

Her grey eyes met mine, glittering with anger. "You know, if you don't want it, you can just shove it right up your…"

"Katniss!" Peeta exclaimed, interrupting her rant. I laughed hard. Damn, I really needed the laugh today.

"I'm just saying. I don't want to get germs or anything…"

"Haymitch, just knock next time, okay? Make it a rule, even if the door is open." said Peeta forcefully.

"Fine. But you remember - hygiene first."

Katniss gave me a murderous look. I'm positive if Peeta wasn't sitting right next to her, she would have stabbed me with her fork.

I smirked as I continued eating. I wasn't squeezing anymore juice out of this lemon.

We ate the rest of the meal in silence. Occasionally, Katniss cast a glance towards me before returning to her meal. It was Peeta who broke the silence.

"Effie wants to help us with the opening of the bakery." He said.

Katniss just shook her head, still avoiding eye contact. "That's just what we need."

"When are you opening the bakery?" I asked.

"We thought it might take until December to get the bakery built up but they "fast-tracked" us so we are planning the opening during the Harvest Festival." explained Peeta.

"But that still isn't for another month." Why would she come one whole month before?

He just shrugged. "I don't know but we're hoping you'll keep her busy. We have a lot to do and appreciate that she wants to help but you know, she can be a little over the top."

"Me? She's coming to see you." I sputtered.

Here, Katniss let her eyes fall on me, a little smirk of her own at the edge of her scowl. "Yeah, but you guys are buddy-buddies. We are going to be crazy this month and you know how sensitive she can be. She's going to need her own escort." She let her gaze hold mine as if saying _Payback's a bitch_.

I let my face harden. "I'm not going to be babysitting her. I don't have enough alcohol for that."

Peeta turned to me. "We're not asking you to babysit. We're happy to have her and we will spend time with her. But you know she'll dominate everything if she has no check. Just help us out, okay?"

I was going to give them hell for this. But truthfully, I couldn't deny Peeta anything he asked for. Maybe it was the selfless, unassuming way he loved Katniss, his complete incorruptibility as a person, or the way he cared for me despite the futility of my life but that kid had wormed his way inside of me. However, I was bound to make it difficult because - why not? No sense letting the kid know I was as bad as Katniss when it came to him.

"We'll take it on a case-by-case basis. How's that?" I conceded.

He beamed in that stupid way he had, as if he had just unwrapped a gift he'd always wanted. "That's all we're asking for, right Katniss?"

She just stared at me like she does, looking all the way through me with eyes like mercury. She was on to me. She always had been. Besides Clarissa, she was the only other person who got me at a glance. "Just don't leave her alone with us." she begged. "Besides, we have a crate of the good stuff downstairs."

And just like that, they roped me in.

XXXXX

She arrived on the afternoon train that Friday. I don't know what I expected but I was surprised by the woman who descended from the train car. Instead of the garish caricature of just last year, what emerged was a rather diminutive woman of forty. It took me a moment to recognize her, the hair once teased a foot above her head now a flaxen blond color that fell straight to her shoulders. She still screamed high maintenance – a snug blue suit with elaborate gold buttons hugging a girlish figure, fingers finely manicured and makeup that did not have a fleck of powder out of place. But even her makeup was restrained which allowed the diamond blue of her eyes free reign over a well-defined face. I had never noticed the watery blue color of her eyes before then. They were nothing next to the piece of sky that lived in Peeta's eyes, a color I had yet to see on another soul. But they were striking for their clarity. I was suddenly uneasy and felt myself instinctively tense at the uncertainty of the person before me.

"Well, that ride was nothing like it was in the past. All the servers were so…" she squished her face in displeasure "…familiar." She dusted herself as she reached out to give Katniss a kiss on each cheek with such flourish, I was able to finally place her as the Effie I had known. Holding her by her shoulders, she examined her, dressed as she was in cotton cargo pants and a long-sleeved cream colored thermal shirt with v-neck buttons, perfectly appropriate for hunting in the cool weather of the season. She tsk- tsked Katniss. "We'll have to do something about your wardrobe, dear." Katniss rolled her eyes at Peeta over her shoulder.

Turning to Peeta, she appeared to melt. Her kisses on his cheek were more indulgent as she greeted him, patting his face with her small hand. "My, my…" is all she could say at first, visibly moved by his appearance. "You look so much better than the last time I saw you. Good boy." Effie floated away from him, leaving him puzzled but pleased by her intensity.

Turning towards me, she held out her hand stiffly. "Well, Haymitch, it's a pleasure as always." Her smile was tight and uncomfortable but honestly, that was just Effie being Effie and I could actually deal with that. I just grunted. We began our walk when she stopped at the edge of the station. "Will we be taking a car?" she asked.

Katniss turned a deadly pair of eyes towards her. "Eh, no. We're within walking distance. District 12 isn't that big.

"Oh!" she sputtered as she turned to a cart I hadn't noticed before. It was piled up with at least four feet of luggage. "How will I get my things to Victor's Village?" she said, sniffing as if it were the most logical thing in the world. The three of us just stood staring at the mountain of stuff, in awe that anyone could need so much in one lifetime, much less for roughly a month. Peeta, ever the considerate one, volunteered to call a truck to bring her things home. When the jalopy arrived, Effie eyes widened.

"Will we be safe in that?" she breathed with shock.

"We'll walk. The truck will just deliver your things." Explained Peeta with infinite patience.

"I'd be more comfortable going with the truck, if it is the same to you." She sniffed.

Katniss responded in her kindest voice. "It's okay, Effie. You go with the driver. We'll give him directions to your house. When you're settled, just head over to our house. It's the one with the white fence in the back"

Effie looked at the truck as if it were overrun with vermin. We helped her place her luggage on the flatbed of the truck. After a few instructions to the driver from Peeta, she climbed in awkwardly, her face pinched in discomfort.

Watching the truck lumber off, we simply looked at one another.

"Holy shit." was all I could mutter.

Peeta could not contain his mirth anymore and grinned at us. "She's in for a big surprise. She's not in the Capitol anymore!" He chuckled as he took Katniss' hand and we turned to walk back to the Village.

"What I don't understand is why she didn't just stay at the inn in town? It would have been so much easier for her to settle in." observed Katniss.

I didn't say anything but I had a slew of questions of my own and I aimed to have them answered.

**XXXXX**

Effie arrived at dinner time, perfectly overdressed, having changed out of her blue suit and wearing instead a pink A-line dress with a shiny black belt and matching shiny black heels. Her slender arms were covered in black gloves that reached all the way to her elbows. They were not the stilettos of old but the heel was still impressive. I was actually sorry she wasn't wearing those giant stilts. In this grass, she would have toppled over and I would have had a good laugh. Katniss had made an extra effort with her appearance, wearing a deep green sweater over tights and stylish boots. Effie looked her up and down and nodded approvingly. She was shown into the living room with its simple beige and green colors. Peeta and Katniss had pulled down the garish wall-paper and repainted the room in her favorite colors, colors that called to mind the calming hues of the forest. The formal dining room where we would have dinner was also similarly themed, but with the infusion of yellow and warm orange that seemed to be a theme throughout their house, something I only just now noticed. Effie was effusive in her compliments.

Wandering through the archway to the kitchen, she gushed. "Oh Katniss, this house is just adorable. You must give me the tour of it. Such lovely colors!"

Katniss caught Peeta's eye and something passed between them before she looked at Effie with no small pride and thanked her.

"And your kitchen! Peeta, you've stocked all the best equipment." She ran her hands over the smaller mixer he kept at home, the double oven he had installed, the granite counters. "It's all very professional. I can't wait to see what you've put into the bakery."

"Actually, we are just working on the "aesthetic" part now. We had to get the structure and equipment in place first." explained Peeta.

"Well, I happen to have quite an eye for fashion. There is a Café near my residential quarter where a giant chandelier hangs right in the middle of the shop. All the table cloths are hand-embroidered and the tea-cups are a designer series. Such an adorable establishment!" She clapped her hands as she said this while Peeta's face paled.

"District 12 is really not the kind of place where you can hang a chandelier and keep a straight face." I muttered. Katniss chuckled at this, probably envisioning someone like Greasy Sae not knowing what to do with all that lace and chintz. Peeta was visibly relieved that there would be no talk of chandeliers in his bakery and went back to preparing dinner.

"Of course but there is nothing wrong with a little touch of class." explained Effie.

"Peeta's going to keep the style of his family's original bakery." said Katniss firmly. "We'll have tables where people can sit and have coffee, tea and drinks - but it is still mostly a bakery. We will just hang some of his paintings but it's going to be a simple place overall." She gave Peeta a small smile before setting the last of the things on the table.

Effie simply shrugged and shuffled around the table, carefully removing her gloves. She took the place settings and helped set the table. This small show of domesticity took me aback. Effie was used to expecting to be served hand and foot. Even Katniss seemed confused with the offer to help and simply passed the items to her without question.

Peeta prepared his zucchini bread to accompany the roasted quail and autumn vegetables from the garden. He had a basket of cheese buns and even a delicate mousse for dessert. I had to admit it – that kid was good in the kitchen. We pulled out a couple of bottles of the red wine; a Capitol treat called Cabernet Sauvignon and settled into an excellent dinner. I made sure to keep a bottle close to me.

Effie regaled us with the changes in the Capitol – the privatizing of the media, utilities, and other companies that served the public good. It made some of the Capitol business elite unhappy to lose monopolies but they were at a disadvantage with respect to the government. This didn't make a whole lot of sense to Katniss and Peeta. Districts had very little understanding of how things worked in the Capitol so the terms "private" vs. "public" meant next to nothing to them. To their credit, they didn't fall on their faces with boredom but showed just enough interest to keep Effie going. She went on to speak about the changes in Capitol society itself.

"The Ministry of Education is rewriting the primary and secondary history curriculum. Past textbooks tended to be somewhat propagandist in nature. Our studio did a documentary series about the discrepancies and misrepresentations in our educational materials. It had quite a big ratings success." Effie smiled proudly.

"I recall watching a few episodes of that." encouraged Peeta. "I think that was more of a surprise to Capitol citizens than to the districts."

Effie's voice took on a more serious tone. "We are all learning to adjust to this new reality." She looked meaningfully at Peeta. "Avoxes were released from indentured service by government decree. There is a residential school of sign-language where they receive training, the goal being to reintegrate them into society. With the new labor laws, every working individual is now entitled to a minimum wage. We covered that story also." I saw Katniss take Peeta's hand as he looked down, a look of pain crossing his face. He had watched Darius and the other female Avox being tortured and though she had not meant to hurt him, I still had to repress an irrational urge to kick her hard under the table.

"It's been a difficult transition for many Capitol citizens, who are used to things being a different way." Said Effie finally, swinging her third glass of wine in her hand.

Katniss gave her a hard look but said nothing. I was actually impressed by her self-restraint this evening. She usually wasn't afraid to call a spade a spade, if she had to. To have a Capitol citizen tell them, of all people, that they had had a "difficult transition" was probably tantamount to an insult. I guess it was up to me to be the asshole.

"I would think it's nothing compared to having to bury your dead in mass graves and rebuilding entire districts. _That_ might be what I would call a "difficult transition."

The blood drained from Effie's face when I said this. Her voice became uncharacteristically hard. "I wasn't trying to insinuate that our transitions were anywhere near as difficult as the District's. I don't appreciate the assumption that somehow I am not sensitive to what victims of the regime may have or are continuing to endure. But there are adjustments to be made on all sides and not all of them have been painless." No one knew where to put their eyes afterward that comment. Katniss tugged at Peeta's sleeve as she got up to collect the plates. He seemed grateful for the opportunity to retreat as he followed her to the kitchen to prepare the dessert.

I just eyed her, trying to size her up. There was something about the way she spoke that made me understand that she wasn't just speaking theoretically. She rose from her seat to bring her plate and mine to the kitchen but I stopped her with a touch on her arm. "What's going on here, Effie? You aren't just here for the bakery, are you?"

She visibly shook at the question and sat slowly down at the table again. Again, her voice did not sound like her own. "I needed to see with my own eyes that they were doing fine. Or do you think I'm here for Plutarch, maybe?" she seemed to sneer. "Perhaps I'm preparing another one of those wonderful propos you perfected during the Revolution. Is that what you want to hear, Haymitch? Will that make it easier for you to laugh at my silliness behind my back?"

I was taken aback by her anger. "What are you all huffy about anyway? You would think you'd be grateful not to be in a Capitol prison, or worse."

She took a deep breath. "I am very _huffy_ with you but I don't want to discuss this right now. I want to enjoy the evening with Katniss and Peeta because I honestly thought I would never see them again in this life. However, if anyone needs to explain some things, it's _you_, Mister! Now, let me take these things in before I become _very_ upset." She turned her nose right up at me as she said this before collecting the plates and taking them into the kitchen. I heard the three of them banter lightly, the water running intermittently, a small bubble of laughter here and there but I did not make any effort to understand what they were saying. What was clear was that Effie was not exactly the same Effie of before and apparently, she had a bone to pick with me.

This was going to be a long month.

**XXXXX**

**Have you ever wondered what happened to Effie in the Capitol? I have a few ideas and I hope you like them.**

**Check out my tumblr account on my profile and in the Author's note if you would like to chat it up. There's nothing I love more than a good conversation. **

**Oh, and of course, please review!**

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	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks, everyone, for your reviews. I'm also excited about everyone who has been visiting me over at tumblr (titania522). It's been so much fun and I appreciate you all.**

**THG Fanfic Rec: All My Somedays Are Yours by salanderjade. An AU fic modeled on the film ****_An Affair to Remember_****. It is exquisite!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of it! It all belongs to Suzanne Collins**

**Chapter 20 – You can't win for losing (Haymitch's POV, Part 2)**

At the end of the evening, it was decided I'd be the one to walk Effie home. I really wasn't interested in the task, especially when the idea clearly made Effie look like she'd swallowed poison ivy. However, we were going the same way and I'm sure the kids just wanted to get to whatever they were going to get to without their mentor and ex-escort hovering around. Effie gave her effusive thanks and kissed each of them good night, promising to bring them gifts as soon as she unpacked her things. The night was cool, making Effie shiver in her ridiculously high black heels. I offered her my jacket but she just wrinkled her nose, shaking her head curtly. I mean, hell, it wasn't that bad, I'd just washed it….well, okay, I hadn't ever washed it but I thought it smelled good enough for dinner.

We walked along quietly, the only sound that of an owl hooting in the woods beyond the fence. After a few minutes, Effie spoke up. "It is so nice to see them healthy and strong. They looked positively domestic!" she seemed to want to clap her hands but thought better of it. "Do you think they will get married?"

I grunted. "I haven't heard talk of it but I get the feeling Katniss will have a hard time wrapping her head around that. They aren't quite healed up yet, you know."

"They looked fine to me." protested Effie. "A nice wedding would be just the thing to celebrate their progress. Just a few hundred of their close friends and dignitaries in attendance…nothing too grand. Why, I could even order a giant, glass…"

"Like hell you will!" I exploded. "Look, Effie, don't go saying anything to them, okay? They have enough with the bakery and their therapy – they don't need you throwing in any extra drama between them." I didn't want to bring up Peeta's episodes or Katniss' irritating habit of running off into the woods or locking herself up somewhere when things got too overwhelming. "They have a good thing going right now. You have no idea what they were like when they got back from the Capitol."

Effie nodded, becoming very serious. "Where is Katniss' mother? I thought for sure she would be here."

I shook my head at her. "I guess after Prim, she just couldn't come back here again."

"Was Katniss all alone then?" she asked.

"Yep, well, besides Greasy Sae and me. I didn't come over that much. She didn't even know who was around her for a couple of months."

Effie visibly shuddered. "That's just terrible. Poor Katniss! What kind of mother does that?" she spat indignantly.

At some level, I felt the same way as Effie. But as a person who was pretty fucked up himself, I just couldn't bring myself to condemn Mrs. Everdeen in the same way. If nothing else was clear to me from my life's experience, it was that there was no way of knowing how a person will respond to life-altering trauma. And in many ways, Katniss is her mother's daughter. "People react to shit in different ways."

Effie turned her eyes on me. "That's why you drink like a fish and smell like a vomitorium?" Her face was so flat that I had a hard time believing the words had come out of her mouth.

"Whoa, where are your manners, Miss Trinket?" I smirked at her.

"I'm not on the job so I'm not getting paid to be nice. Anyway," here she sighed. "No one ever won a prize for having the most manners. Look at you. You are a foul-tempered, smelly, drunken troll and you managed to become a revolutionary leader. Where did manners get me? - A cold cell and a beating on a good day." I froze, recoiling from the deadened way she said those words, her face a stone, as if she were simply describing the distance from District 12 to the Capitol.

I stopped right before her door and turned to her. "What are you talking about? What's going on with you?"

Effie cocked her head to the side and considered me for a moment, her arms crossed against the cold and quite possibly against me. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your two charges are not the only ones having a hard time getting over their traumas?" she laughed bitterly. "Or maybe you think that I am not complex enough to be traumatized by being held in captivity, by the "enhanced interrogation" techniques that I endured when they thought I knew about something I had no idea was taking place? Maybe I'm too dumb to be trusted with a _revolution_ or too much a part of the Capitol machinery?"

I was shocked by her outburst. "You're kidding me, right? Are you angry because I was involved with the rebels and didn't tell you about it? Are you for real?" I sneered at her.

She seemed to buckle at my sarcasm but straightened her back and dropped her arms at her sides, her hands balled into small, hard fists. "You trusted _Plutarch Heavensbee_, of all people. Yet you and I have worked together for 15 years and you didn't think that I would rate a little bit of honesty? When Katniss and Peeta were reaped for the Quarter Quell, did you think I was somehow enjoying myself?"

I was so completely caught off-guard by her anger at not being asked to work with the rebellion, I burst out into hysterical laughter. It got so bad, I had to sit on the steps outside of her house to keep from peeing my pants. It had never, ever occurred to me that Ms. Fluff would have resented not being asked to join in the rebel cause. This was just too rich.

"Look…Effie…" I sputtered, trying to talk around my laughter.

Effie blanched at my reaction, turning on her slender heel to march up the steps of her current home. Lifting the plant pot, she pulled a key out from underneath and shook as she put it in the keyhole. She was just inside the door when she wheeled around and picked up the terracotta pot, lunging it at me. I managed to move out of the way just in time to spare my head from the impact but it lanced my shoulder hard. "Well, you've given me your answer! It doesn't matter, I'm not here for you anyway!" She screamed at me as she slammed the door closed.

That stopped my laughing.

I rubbed my shoulder as I walked back home. Beatings? Interrogations? I knew she had been in captivity but I didn't think she was as bad off as that. Damn, now I really started to feel like shit. I turned right around and walked up to her door, rapping loudly on it. I heard movement inside and raised my hand to knock again when the door opened. She had removed her shoes and wore a pair of fluffy ,blue slippers with a heel. I wanted to guffaw at that but held my peace, knowing that might earn me a slap or worse.

"Alright, look. Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you." She simply stared at me, her eyes glittering. She wanted more. Taking a deep breath, I said "I was an insensitive ass and should have been more considerate. Want to talk about it?" That was as contrite as I was going to get.

Effie eyed me for a few more moments before opening the door, stepping aside to let me in. She'd been in this house all of one day and already the place reeked of perfume; heavily scented votive candles were set out on all the counters. I went to sit in the living room and opened the window – this house was worse than mine.

"Did a perfume bomb go off in here? This place stinks!" My eyes were even starting to water.

"You're one to talk." She muttered as she went to the kitchen. I heard the clattering of glasses as she emerged a few minutes later with a carafe of brown liquor and two glasses. She set them down on the table and poured a drought for each of us. She then sat delicately in an armchair caddy-corner to the sofa where I sat. She gripped her glass until her knuckles were white but otherwise showed no signs of being anything but relaxed.

We sat in an uneasy silence for several minutes, each of us sipping from our drinks. Well, she was sipping. I'd downed mine with one gulp and poured another, larger drink.

"So how is it going for you in the Capitol?" I asked, not really sure how else to start the conversation.

"My work is very fulfilling. I spend a lot of time at the studios." She said.

"Friends?" I asked.

"Most were arrested. Actually, I have a few people that I work with who are very interesting and easy to get along with."

There was that silence again. Fuck. I decided not to beat around the bush.

"So, what's going on that brought you all the way out here?"

"I wanted to see Katniss and Peeta. I told you that." She sniffed.

"But you are planning a long trip. Aren't they going to miss you at work?" I probed.

She sighed, wiping one hand on her dress. They seemed sweaty. I don't think I've ever seen Effie sweat in all the years we worked together. "I doubt that. They have at least a dozen people who do what I do." She paused. "Actually, Plutarch got me that position. I don't think I would have been hired otherwise. "

I raised an eyebrow, hoping for a further explanation.

"They are all former rebels. There isn't a lot of…tolerance…for Capitol employees, especially ones they deem to be of questionable loyalties, even if they come with a recommendation from Plutarch himself." She waved her hand and took another sip from her glass.

I considered what she said for a moment. Maybe her job wasn't that fulfilling after all. She refilled her glass again and I fervently hoped she wasn't trying to keep up with me.

"It's just, they don't really take me very seriously. Or they don't trust me. I used to know the ins and outs of society but now that society has changed, it isn't as easy."

I was incredulous. "Are you actually saying you _miss_ the way things were?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, polishing off her second drink. "It's complicated. Obviously, what was…done…was…wrong. Immoral." She filled her glass again.

"You might want to slow down there." I warned.

Ignoring my warning, she continued, becoming more agitated. "It was so unfair to send all of those Victors back into the arena again. They had earned the right to enjoy the rest of their lives in peace, basking in the public's adoration." Her eyes seemed to go round like two shiny moons as she spread her arms for emphasis.

My eyes narrowed at her. "Wouldn't you say it was unfair to send all of those kids into the arena in the first place?"

She waved her hand about, like two restless hummingbirds. "Yes, of course but at the time, that was the most normal thing in the world to me." She sounded like a chirping bird. "And I had a modicum of fame and success, especially after the 74th games. It made me enormously happy to have not one but two Victors to escort. That had never happened before! Of course I miss that!" Her voice rose at the end. It was like fucking nails on a chalkboard.

"But then the announcement for the second Quarter Quell took place. How horrible! Everything suddenly seemed so wrong. You always think of the District people as a little less than human – that's how you are raised to think. But now my two darlings!" she grasped her chest as if she were being strangled. "My two darlings were being sent back in for no good reason and this made me very unhappy." She pointed unsteadily at me. "You had found a way to change all of that and you didn't give me chance to prove my mettle." The drink was clearly taking its toll on her.

_Amateur._

"Effie, I don't mean to be harsh or anything but you were never really rebel material. Plus you were too entrenched…"

"Not rebel material!" She said loudly. At this she stood up, tottering on her blue fluffies. "I will have you know that I would have made the perfect rebel spy." She was beginning to slur as she crouched into a battle stance, hair wild, the belt of her dress askew. My heart froze in my chest. "I knew everyone. I had access to important information. I could have been useful!" The pose she struck was so ridiculous, it killed my buzz.

I got up slowly and pulled the alcohol off of the table. "Okay, that's enough for you." I made to carry the bottle to the kitchen but she stumbled towards me, grabbing my arm in a remarkably strong grip. "You think I'm just drunk, don't you? You think I don't know what I'm saying. Well I'm not that drunk. Keeping me ignorant did not help me when they took me away. Even after the interrogations, I was constantly monitored. Then the Capitol fell and I was arrested by the Rebels. Your lack of trust only confirmed for them that I was a Capitol collaborator." Her face came very close to mine, the alcohol from the evening issuing forth so powerfully, I had an inkling of what Katniss and Peeta go through every time they wake me up in the morning. I pulled my head as far from her as possible.

She was unsteady on her feet, her hold on my arm providing her with her only stability. Her slurring was becoming more pronounced as she downed the last of the liquor before trying unsuccessfully to set it down on the table. I caught the glass before it fell. "I loved them too, you know! I would have done almost anything for them!" She slurred.

"Effie, sit down. You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Not more than I've already been. You hung me out to dry. I would have done anything!" She flopped back in her chair, reaching for another glass.

"Hey, you're starting to look like me. Lay off the juice, will you?"

"I will most certainly not lay off the juice, Mister. " She took another gulp and her rage seemed to abruptly seep out of her.

"Haymitch, I have _nothing_. No one trusts me. I do menial work at the studios. My friends are gone. Even Titian, my ex-husband who was always trying to reconcile with me went off and got remarried." _Titian? What kind of nickname did you give a name like that?_ "I've got more medication for my anxiety than I can shake my finger at. I needed to go somewhere where people remembered who I was, however ridiculous of a person that was. There it is, now you have it. That's why I'm here." She lapsed into silence finally.

I thought about what she said for a moment. She certainly chose the right place – Victor's Village already had three certifiable residents. One more nut-job would just round out the set.

"Well, if you're going to hang around, let's establish some ground rules. First of all, don't come bothering me in the morning. That's when I get my sleep. No trying to redecorate anything, especially my place. I like things just like they are. The same thing goes for the bakery. That belongs squarely to Katniss and Peeta – no chandeliers or funky Capitol designs. You follow their lead. District 12 people are not like Capitol folks so contain the silliness. Finally, please lose the heels. You're just going to end up flat on your back and no one dresses like that anyway."

Effie stared at me like I had three heads. "Is that what you think, that I want to somehow take over and remake everything in my own image?" She was slurring her words, her head bobbing on her shoulders.

"I'm just saying – visit, be neighborly but no high-handed nonsense, especially with the kids. They have enough shit going on without you complicating their lives. No compromises on this, Effie. They need their peace."

Her eyes were swimming in her head at this point. "Fine." she said forlornly. Her face suddenly went green. "I think I'm going to be sick and I don't remember where the bathroom is." She put her hand over her mouth, a gurgling emerging from her throat.

_Just what I need – another drunk to take care of beside me_. I grabbed her and dragged her into the bathroom where she released the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. "Well, there goes your nice dinner. You drank too fast, you dumb blond." I hissed at her. I got a glass of water from the kitchen while she continued to heave. When she had done her business, I handed the glass to her and told her to drink as much of it as she could hold. She tried to straighten up but she swayed on her silly shoes. "Take those damn things off." I ordered. Looking down slowly, she kicked the shoes off.

Stomping angrily around her now huddled form, I jerked the shower handle to turn it on full-blast. I let the water run icy cold before not too gently pushing her inside, clothes and all. She squealed in indignation, trying to push her way out of the shower stall. I physically blocked her, keeping her under the cold jet. I knew she would hate me now but she would appreciate it in the morning when her head didn't feel like it had been trapped in a vice.

"Are you out of your mind? This dress is a silk blend" she half slurred, half screamed as the cold water hit her. She tried to leave again but I didn't let her out, waiting for the cold water to take effect. Finally, she reached out and made the water warmer.

"Where are your clothes, Effie?" I asked.

She just slipped onto the floor of the shower and whimpered. Shrugging, I trudged up to her room and went through her frilly things until I found something that wasn't too ridiculous and brought it down to her. She was still in a heap on the floor of the shower.

"Get up and get changed." I said as I shut off the water. She simply stared at me balefully. "You don't want me to undress you do you?" She looked at me with an expression close to horror and shook her head. "Then get dressed. I'm timing you."

I stepped out of the bathroom, head pressed to the door, listening to make sure she didn't fall and crack her head open. If she had been a man, it would have been so much easier. How many times had I thrown Chaff into a cold shower after a serious binge? It had been something of a joke between us.

After an interminable amount of time, she emerged in her pajamas, the shirt of which was inside out and completely backwards. She hadn't done a very good job of drying herself, her blond hair matted to her face, looking like one giant, blond hair-knot. Her bunny pajamas clung in odd places where her skin had still been wet (_who fucking owned bunny pajamas?). _She wore the misery of her sour stomach and imbalance like a sodden mask on her face, which was becoming splotchy and slack. I handed her another glass of water and told her to drink it up. "Take an aspirin too. You'll appreciate it in the morning."

She sipped the water before suddenly turning around and throwing up again in the toilet. It was all I could do to keep from hurling into the sink behind her. Damned foolish woman. I made her drink the water again. After another couple of repeat trips to the bathroom, she seemed to stabilize, collapsing onto the sofa. I rummaged for bread in the kitchen and made her eat a slice to help her stomach settle.

"You know, you can't get pissed drunk unless you know how to do it."

Effie waved a hand weakly and proceeded to crumple into a noisy sleep, going from zero to snoring in 30 seconds. I searched until I found a blanket and threw it over her, pausing to look at her. Poor Effie, she wouldn't have survived ten minutes in District 13 but she was all in a huff over not being included in the Rebel plot. Like she'd been left out of a chic party that everyone else got invited to. The idea of her being mistreated really did make my bile rise – it was like kicking a puppy; you just don't do stuff like that. _Just add this to the list of evil shit the Capitol did to control its people._

As soon as I was convinced she would be fine, I walked out of the house, locking the door behind me. I was pretty certain that we would not see hide or hair of her for a good part of the day tomorrow, which was just fine with me.

**XXXXX**

**I don't know about you but I am dying for a little Everlark here.**

**I was going to post a teaser of Chapter 21 over at titania522 but honestly, with the new Catching Fire trailer coming out, who's going to pay attention to it? I might not pay attention to it! However, if you want a sneak peak, hit me up and I will oblige.**

**Tell me what you think! As my little one would say – smootchies!**


	21. Chapter 21

**I owe a belated thanks to SolasVioletta for her contributions to the last chapter, suggesting the idea of a shower and the general binge in which Effie indulged. I also want to thank her for Beta-ing this chapter. I have said it repeatedly – she is the mistress of comedic situations and if you haven't read ****_Tainted Love_**** yet, you are missing out on some serious fun.**

**Everlark is back with a vengeance in this chapter. Remember to hit me up on tumblr at titania522. I will post a preview of Chapter 22 in a few days on my blog under Titania's Stories. I have a full Hunger Games Fanfic Rec list on my blog under Titania's Favorite Fanfictions. If you have any fanfics that should be rec'd, message me and I'll look into it.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Heartsick by misshoneywell. Intense and mature, the writing is very precise. Pulls no emotional or thematic punches.**

**Enjoy the thong-fondling!**

**Chapter 21**

**XXXXX**

I lay on my stomach, hugging the sofa cushion to me. I could sense beyond my closed lids the soft light of morning. I only barely opened them before letting them drift closed again, enjoying the final fleeting moments of sleep before day brought on wakefulness. The living room window was open – an autumn breeze pushing gently into the room, cooling it in its golden crispness. I was only partly covered by the throw blanket – my entire back exposed to the morning chill. What began as an evening watching television after dinner with Effie and Haymitch had ended with the rearranging of all the cushions onto the rug before the fireplace. Our clothes had ended up strewn between the tossed pillows and thick blankets, a makeshift nest before a roaring fire. My hair lay everywhere. Peeta made it a point to unravel my braid every night before going to sleep; his large, strong fingers gently caressing the knots out of my locks until the wildness was smoothed out. My body felt like molasses, a stickiness between my thighs the remnants of the night I had had with Peeta.

Thinking about him made me moan involuntarily before I was fully aware of the action. This small sound was enough to make him stir next to me. I felt the displacement of weight on the pillows as he turned towards me. He didn't gather me in his arms, instead placing kisses along my shoulder and back, making my skin shiver under his lips. There was a pause as I heard the hiss of the prosthetic as he attached it, a shuffling as he seemed to rummaged for something on the coffee table. I made to lift my head but heard him say "No, don't move." My entire body clenched at the expectation of what he would do now.

Since the crisis of the painting, he had become a force unleashed. Perhaps it was the near month-long abstinence imposed by our crisis or possibly the breaking of the fever of his fear that brought him confidence that I would never be able to retreat from him, that I was that far gone. Whatever it was, if he had ever held anything back from me, those barriers were gone. We explored one another, sometimes teasing playfully, sometimes with intense seriousness. The night he held me down as he took me, keeping me immobile, he whispered his little secret as he drove into me:

_"__Do you know how long I've fantasized about you?"_

_"__Hmm, no. Tell me."_

_"__Forever."_

_"__And what are you doing when you fantasize about me?"_

_"__Everything. I'm taking everything."_

I fell apart at those words as he pinned my arms above me with one hand, his teeth descending to bite me hard on my shoulder, my breast. I was a gift he was unwrapping and devouring slowly, peeling back the layers of gilt paper until there was nothing left but this quivering beneath him. I was exposed, possessed but also loved. The combination left me reeling, some days unable to think of anything else but his hands on me. He was always the same Peeta – sweet, considerate, bringing me his baked treats like a boy brings flowers to his sweetheart. But there was also another Peeta – feral, uncontrolled, the one that took the same flowers and crushed them against my inflamed flesh, branding me from the inside.

Lying on my stomach, I felt the feathery touch along my back. It wasn't his fingers– the feeling was much softer even then that. It swept gently from the nape of my neck and swirled designs on my back, following the path of my burn scars, making me tremble. When it met the barrier of my blanket, he pulled it off of me and continued his torture, my skin shivering under the dance of this exquisite torture. I began to moan as it slid over my backside, a yelp escaping me when it dipped into the small indentation between my cheeks.

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

"Shhhh." He said, placing wet kisses along my buttocks, nipping across them with his teeth. He gently spread my legs and continued to drag whatever it was ever further down. I bucked my hips involuntarily when he flicked it over my now wet lips. "Oh, Peeta" I whispered.

He simply chuckled as he moved it over my center again, flicking it so that I was speechless with need. As he dragged it upwards again, I could feel my moisture drag along with it, wetting the skin of my inner thigh. I looked over my shoulder, curiosity getting the best of me. It was a paintbrush, a medium-sized one that he used to paint details onto his canvass. The idea that he made me feel as I did with just that object aroused me so powerfully, it was all I could do to obey and stay still.

He caught me peeking and took a gentle swipe at my backside. "You have no impulse control, you realize that?" He shifted behind me and pulled my hips up and back so that I was on my knees. He continued to rain wet kisses along my back, reaching around to grasp my breast with one hand. He continued to pull me up to him until my back was flush against his chest, his erection pressing into my lower back and reached his other hand between my legs to rub me in the spot he knew would undo me. Pushing my head gently to the side, his mouth slid along my ear, sucking gently on my earlobe. His tongue ran down the length of my neck and shoulder as his fingers circled and pressed into my center. I was quivering at this point, the coil inside of me tightening. When he slid his fingers inside of me, I ground into him, my hands reaching behind to run along his thighs and grip him.

"I love you, Katniss." He whispered.

A gasp escaped me as I whispered back. "I love you too, Peeta."

"Tell me again." He asked as my breathing became frantic.

"I love you, Peeta." I said with more urgency.

"Again."

I was breathless with my mounting release so that the next time I could only say his name, a burst of sound buried in the middle of an explosion, a gasp surrounded by ragged breathing. I collapsed against his chest as my orgasm sped through my body. He gently pushed me forward onto my hands and knees and sunk slowly inside of me, my contractions becoming fierce against him. His groans meandered into mine as I felt the depth of his penetration, an incredible feeling of being stretched and filled. He held himself in place, enjoying the feeling of filling me up while my own waves subsided. He began to move in and out, his hands gripping my hips. I moved against him, trying to catch his rhythm. When we were finally synchronous, he moved with more purpose, one hand sliding along my back, sweeping around the front to tease the nipple of my breast until it ached painfully in his fingers. He let his hands run over my thighs, my backside, squeezing and kneading the skin.

"You're… so…amazing…like this." He hissed through clenched teeth as his movement became more intense. Gasps of pleasure escaped me in time with his impact, the sounds mixing with the slapping of our bodies together. Even that sound brought me an obscene amount of pleasure but I kept approaching the edge without reaching it. In this position, I could not reach my climax so I brought my hand down, seeking relief from the clenching in my belly. A few rounds of pressure and I was shaking, my back arching as Peeta slammed hard into me. I exploded into a million points of light and did not even register his release, lost as I was to mine, until he crumpled over me. We lay in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and worn for several long minutes, trying to recover our breaths. After a while, I felt Peeta shift until he had assumed his usual place behind me, kissing my shoulder languidly.

"I'm never washing that brush again." He whispered into my neck.

I laughed tiredly. "That's so romantic, in a gross sort of way."

**XXXXX**

There were no signs of life in Victor's Village. Even the geese seemed subdued this morning. We continued to lounge in our nest for an indeterminate amount of time, chatting about Effie and our observations about dinner.

"She seemed different somehow. I don't know how to explain. Almost…"

"Normal?" suggested Peeta.

"Never very normal but more thoughtful. It's hard to explain." I knew what I thought but could not articulate it well.

"I never realized it but without all of the Capitol decorations, she's actually really pretty." remarked Peeta.

I turned my head up to capture his eye. "She's too old for you, you know."

An evil gleam entered his eye. "Not very. You know what they say about older women and younger men…"

I gave him my best _I will run you through with an arrow_ look before saying "Don't risk your life, Mellark."

He laughed openly now, running his hands through my hair. "Wow, are you telling me you're jealous?"

"I'm not jealous, especially of Effie!" I scowled at him.

"Ooooh, there goes that sour-puss face I like so much. Haven't seen that in a while. You going to finish me off now, sweetheart?"

I moved swiftly to straddle him, pinning his hands down above his head. "You're a regular comedian, aren't you? Don't joke about other women. It might end badly for you."

"Do tell. How badly are we talking about here?"

I spent the better part of the morning showing him just how _bad_ it could really get.

**XXXXX**

Afterwards, my finger traced patterns on his chest as we considered what was left of the day. It was Saturday but we would have to go to the bakery so a picnic at the lake was out of the question. I was starting to feel anxious. The closer the day of the opening of the bakery, the more there seemed to do. We would begin accepting applications for employees on Monday and that would require us to look into references, which meant I would have to be on the phone with people and I was not looking forward to that. I was proud of the bakery and even felt a strange possessiveness towards it, as if it were a creature to be cared for. However, I could never have perceived how much work it took to open a small business. Peeta, who knew things without my having to say them, seemed to sense my nervous energy.

"Hey, I can run down to the bakery today. Why don't you hunt? You haven't done that in a few days."

I thought about the green canopy of silent trees and my heart filled with an old longing. "Are you sure you don't need me? I don't want to dump on you."

Peeta shook his head. "It's a short trip. I could stop off at the Hob on the way back. We need a few things and I have to get up to date on my gossip, anyway." He smiled to himself at this.

I buried my head in his shoulder and laughed at him. It was easier for me to laugh these days. The old pang of guilt for allowing myself to feel happy reared its ugly head but I pushed it down violently. I clung instead to Dr. Aurelius' words - "To find happiness again is the most noble way of honoring the dead." It warmed me to think I honored Prim by building a good life with Peeta, to imagine her somewhere, smiling benevolently on us. The nightmares hadn't gone away but they did not always drag me down as badly as they used to. Peeta's episodes were less frequent, though every bit as awful as the first time. I had a moment of optimism that we might figure out a way to co-exist with all of it.

In the woods, I climbed my favorite tree, straddling the thick limbs as I looked out over the mountain range. I could already feel the stress seep out of my tense muscles. The air was frigid despite the autumn sun – the forest did not lose the chill of night so easily. I thought of Effie and felt the familiar anxiety flicker through me again. It was hard to disassociate her from the Games, even if she had proven to be our ally when she could. I thought of her sadness when we were reaped for the Quarter Quell, the emptiness in her eyes when she oversaw my preparations in the Capitol after the Rebel victory. There was more to Effie than met the eye, and more to this trip than she was letting on. I sighed at this. I was suddenly ashamed that my initial reaction was to feel inconvenienced by her. Effie had always been a bit fragile and yet my hunter's instinct sensed a deep wound that had not been there before.

I suddenly worried about her and made a promise to myself to check in on her upon my return.

I scanned the woods around me, listening for the signs of prey. It was autumn, the air warmed by the caramel-colored sun, yet frigidness lay in wait between fall's gold, announcing the coming onslaught of winter. Animals were beginning to be scarce and I had to wander deeper into the woods than usual to find anything worth bringing home. Whatever animal made it to our dinner table would have to endure Peeta's manipulations. He was in a "sauce" phase now – he had gone through a "preservation" phase in which he'd literally mastered everything there was to know about preserving fruits and vegetables. Then he passed through a brief "caramelizing" phase, in which everything that could be caramelized was caramelized. Now he was in his "sauce" phase, where he was experimenting with different sauces. I began to think there was no way to exhaust his curiosity or imagination, which made my own interests monochromatic in comparison. My stomach, however, was the happiest it had ever been.

I trudged back to Victor's Village, tired from the hunting and my exertions with Peeta. I absently touched my fingers to my lips, recalling him there before I veered towards home. I heard the television in Haymitch's house, indicating that he was most likely awake. Effie's house revealed nothing about its current inhabitant. I was happy to see Peeta had returned, so much so I ran up the stairs and pushed open the door, dropping everything on the floor to look for him. He was in the study, sorting receipts and I surprised him with a voracious kiss.

"You should go hunting more often." He said as he pulled me onto his lap. I smiled at him, probably looking like a love-sick idiot but I didn't care. I could be his love-sick idiot.

"Let's go see Effie. I don't want her to feel she isn't welcomed." I said contritely.

"Okay. Let me finish this and then we can go." I nodded, lingering for a few more moments.

After my haul had been taken care of and I was freshly washed and dressed, we walked across the paved road and knocked on Effie's door. A few moments passed before she opened it, squinting almost painfully into the light. She was still in her pajamas, a look of pain flashing briefly across her face. Her attitude became more indulgent when she saw us.

"Oh, Katniss, Peeta. Hello! Come in, please." She waved us into the house.

She walked slowly to the living room, inviting us to have a seat. "Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Tea sounds good. I'll help you. Are you settled in yet?" asked Peeta.

While he made small-talk in the kitchen, I observed the house, taken aback by the powerful smell that hung in the air. Leave it to Effie to make the place smell like a spice factory. Thankfully, the window was open so I took the place on the love seat closest to it to relieve myself of the density of perfume in the air.

Peeta carried the tray holding three teacups with saucers, an ornate milk dispenser and matching sugar bowl, while Effie seemed to wobble behind him. Setting it down, he handed the tea to me and Effie before taking a seat next to me while Effie sat on the sofa opposite to me. She squinted again as she sank onto the cushions. She looked uncomfortable and almost ill.

"Are you okay, Effie?" I asked.

"Yes, I think I just have a little bug. Probably from the trip." She waved her hand as if to brush away my concern. "How are you? What have you been up to today?"

"Peeta had to go down to the bakery. I went hunting and managed to bring back a good haul."

She nodded at this as she sipped her tea. The warm liquid seemed to revive her and she suddenly became more animated. "I am simply dying to see the town. I've heard so much about the rebuilding of District 12 that I can't wait to see it with my own eyes." She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Forgive me, but I've also got a splitting headache. You know how long the train trip from the Capitol can be." She laughed uneasily.

"Yeah, it can be grueling. Is there anything we can do for you?" asked Peeta. "Maybe some medicine for your headache?"

"No, don't worry yourselves. I have everything I need. I'll be good as new tomorrow…" Her sentence was interrupted by a knock on the door. She stood up carefully and shuffled to the door. I heard Haymitch's gruff voice as he walked in. When he saw Peeta and I, he simply nodded.

"Here, I brought you this." He said without preamble, pushing a glass of something yellow and cloudy into her hand.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's better if I don't tell you but it will get rid of your hangover." He said as he sat down.

_Hangover?_ Peeta and I just glanced at each other.

"It smells awful!" she squealed. "How do I know it won't kill me?" she complained.

"If the half-bottle of whiskey you downed yesterday didn't kill you, nothing will." He answered gruffly.

"I thought you had a bug?" I said suspiciously. Peeta was starting to chuckle next to me. "Some bug." he whispered to me.

Effie grew pale and looked around herself nervously as it if an answer would leap out from one of her cloying, scented candles. "Okay, fine. I had a little too much to drink and now I feel like something ran me over. I'm sorry the first night I come to visit, I become Haymitch…" here she threw a look of disdain at him "…except much better looking."

Haymitch gave her a _fuck you_ look before answering "You weren't such a snob last night when I threw you in the shower, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, a gleam of wickedness in his eye. Effie became so red, I thought her head would burst, a stream of confetti rushing out to cover everything. I was in complete shock at this point. Peeta didn't have to go all the way to the Hob to get the good gossip. Haymitch and Effie? Shower? I know the shock was written all over our faces and Haymitch was loving every minute of it.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was completely dressed when you pushed me in!" she shrieked.

Haymitch was working hard to repress his laughter. "But you weren't when you came out. Took me a long time to go through your little lacies to find that bunny outfit there. How do you put up with those little stringy things going up your ass all the time, anyway?" He mimicked holding what I imagined was a pair of thongs in his hand, making a face as he said it. Peeta turned his head, putting it on my shoulder in an effort to hide his increasing inability to keep a straight face.

"How dare you – you touched my underwear?" She gasped. My mouth was hanging open in complete surprise and I brought my hand up to cover it before I swallowed a fly. I wanted to repress the laughter, we both really did – for Effie's sake but it just bubbled up out of me. Peeta couldn't take it any more and joined me, to his credit still trying to be polite. I didn't even bother, letting the moment over take me. Thankfully, she was so mortified that she barely noticed me.

"Every. Single. Last. Piece." Sneered Haymitch, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, I'm going to have to disinfect everything now! Or burn them!" She screeched again. "Those are designer interiors you were pawing, you perverted drunkard, you…you…" He stamped her foot in fury.

"I could tell. They felt _so_ good on my skin…"

With a burst of outrage, she pushed him towards the door. "Out! Out you beast! You! Ooooh, I'm so mad I could spit!"

"Fine, but drink that down first so you'll be hydrated enough to get a wad of spit going." Haymitch said between his laughter before the door slammed shut behind him.

Peeta and I were dying with poorly suppressed laughter, leaning against each other on Effie's velvet loveseat. I grabbed a napkin from the tray to wipe the tears that had spilled onto his cheeks from the pressure of holding in his mirth. "I'm not going to be able to control it, Peeta. We have got to get out of here." I whispered to him. He just nodded through pinched lips.

When Effie walked back in, we stood up suddenly, moving quickly towards the door. "Um, Effie, maybe we should get going too." Said Peeta, trying to give her back her dignity. "We left some, uh…"

"Meat!" I burst out. "We left meat on the counter. You know, spoilage and all…" I fairly pushed Peeta out the door.

Effie still carried a look of mortification. She made a superhuman effort to be composed "Oh, okay then. Thank you for your visit."

"Tomorrow?" sputtered Peeta. "We'll take a walk into town together."

"Of course." said Effie stiffly. "I'd love that."

I shut the door behind us, pulling Peeta down the steps as I ran to our lawn. When I was sure she couldn't hear, we fell on the grass, letting the hysterical laughter take over us.

"Oh. My. God! That was amazing!" I howled.

Peeta could barely breath. "Haymitch groping her thongs. Priceless! Why didn't we invite her sooner?"

"I don't know but she just went and got drunk and those pajamas…" I put my head in my hands.

"And what was that about the shower?" Peeta's eyes were tearing again. "We are awful human beings, laughing at poor Effie."

I looked at him in mock seriousness. "Oh fuck it, we're entitled to a laugh." I threw myself back into the grass. "Amazing!"

"Did you just swear again?" said Peeta as he sunk next to me.

"Yes, I did. Everyone does it sometimes." I said a bit defensively.

"Yeah, but you are so hot when you curse." whispered Peeta, his mood changing completely, even though he still had a smile on his face.

I felt as light as a bird and wanted to play. "Well, then, Peeta Mellark, if you like it so much, I could oblige you on occasion. What would you like to hear? Does "fuck me right now" sound good to you?"

His eyes lit up. "Sounds perfect." He put his mouth down to me and gave me a fiery kiss full of promise for things to come. I pulled him down on top of me, wrapping my legs around his waist and was soon lost to the world when I heard the harsh, gruff voice come from across the lawn.

"Hey, take that shit inside! You've got fifty fucking rooms to choose from! Don't you guys have hobbies or something?!" Haymitch hollered from the fence where he kept his geese.

Peeta put his head down on my chest. "What a cock-blocker!" he hissed.

I gave him a look of congratulations. "Score one for Peeta! Now we're tied 1-1."

He stood up and pulled me up against him. "You up to a challenge, Everdeen? Want to see who's got the dirtiest mouth?"

I felt a slow smile spread across my face, the heat already overtaking my limbs, goose flesh spreading down to my toes. Moving towards the house, I gave him a swat on his backside, throwing a superior smirk over my shoulder. "You're on." I purred. "Prepare to have your gorgeous ass annihilated."

**XXXXX**

**That would make the score 2-1. **

**For those of you who recalled the poem at the opening of this chapter, I moved it to a later one. It was more appropriate as the tone of this chapter is decidedly lighter than the others.**

**Let me know what you think! Don't worry, the angst is underway. **


	22. Chapter 22

**A million thanks to SolasVioletta for continuing to let me borrow her brain and bounce ideas off of her. I have a wonderful sounding board in MADAM BETH who has been trading ideas with me for some scenes in the second part and just writing in general. Finally, the lovely TiffOdair is back to her beta-ing best.**

**I wrote this at the sea – clearly, I was heavily influenced by the scenery. Forgive me if I am overly romantic in this one. **

**HG FanFic Rec: When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun by Mejhiren. It is a WIP and there is usually a large span of time between updates but it is worth it to get lost in the equivalent of an adult fairy tale. The writing is lush – truly, she inspires me to be more careful with my writing. Outstanding!**

**Chapter 22 – Chance and Circumstance (Part 1)**

**_"_****_Let only the young come,_**

**_ Says the sea. _**

**_Let them kiss my face _**

**_And hear me. _**

**_I am the last word_**

**_ And I tell _**

**_Where storms and stars come from."_**

**_from "Young Sea" by Carl Sandberg_**

Sunday had quickly become my favorite day of the week. Even now that we were still in the frenetic process of setting up the bakery, most shops were shut up on Sundays, meaning there was very little we could do, leaving the day entirely to us. We often went to the lake during the warm weather but now that the air had become chillier, we made a habit of taking long walks in the woods after lunch, when the temperature was warmest. Trails were being built into the woods southwest of the town, with some loops that would be longer or shorter depending on the desires of the walker. Interest in the woods was slowly increasing in the last few months now that it was no longer a crime punishable by death. There were, of course, the university labs that collected plants for medicinal samples or the occasional naturalist. Mostly, though, it was D12 citizens who were venturing into the forbidden woods with their families. Peeta and I took these half-trails sometimes but I had secret places of my own that kept us away from those paths and the prying eyes of others.

Other days, we spent our afternoons adding to our ever-growing memory book. On these days, Sundays took on a mythic quality as we roamed our memories in search of loved ones, conceiving ways to remember them in all of their unique beauty. Haymitch began adding his memories to the book, so that we three recreated the magic of bringing to life, if for a few moments, the souls that had been violently ripped away from us.

I was weak with sadness the day I added Finnick, Annie and their little boy to our book. Peeta and I cried for hours as we worked until we were forced to give up and restart several days later. One night I dreamed a strange dream in which Finnick swam in an ocean so clear and blue, it was like a sapphire pinned to the horizon. The sky shimmered in colors that one would imagine were inside of a pearl- pinks, blues, greens and golden yellows weaving into one another in a cadence that made me think _this is what music would look like if it could be painted_. I stood on the banks of an island with sand so white and soft, if felt like fine powder between my toes. He was graceful, slicing through the water, bobbing playfully like the dolphins I'd seen during the Victory Tour. I was suddenly in the water with him as he swam towards me, a necklace of shells against his tanned, muscled chest. The salty wind pushed up by the cresting waves rushed past my ears, punctuated by the call of large, white birds that complained meaninglessly to the sky.

Though my mouth didn't move, I told him about his beautiful boy. _His name is Tristen, Finn. Did you know you left that piece of yourself behind?_ He simply nodded, his smile in response was so luminous that I thought anyone who witnessed it could not help but lose their hearts to it. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and thank him for his friendship, the knots, Peeta's and my life but I was not meant to do this in my dream and so I was not allowed. He tried to say something that I knew was of such critical importance, it would change my life to hear the words but a strange mist carried the sound away. Instead, we continued to swim together, the warm water lapping over my arms and back as my strokes broke through the water. The feeling of joy so suffused every corner of my mind that when I woke crying in Peeta's arms, I had no words to describe what I had experienced except to say "I think I saw Finn's soul and he was happy. Do you think it is possible that we could see their souls, that they could actually be happy?" Peeta simply shook his head and whispered "I don't know, love. I don't know."

"Peeta. It was too much joy to have belonged to only him. It was as if the whole world was lit up with it. I didn't want to wake up." I whispered raggedly, still overcome by my vision.

He was confused by it all as I tugged on his hand and dragged him to his studio, pausing only to let him put on his leg. I turned on the lights and found an empty canvas, oblivious to the fact that it was 3 in the morning and Peeta might have wanted to keep sleeping. I was so fortunate that he loved me, for a moment like that would have tested a lesser affection. Before the vision receded, I had to commit it to a place more permanent than my memory. I cursed my inability to draw more than a straight line and guided Peeta with the colors and shapes, working for hours until, miraculously, we were able to reproduce Finnick rising out of the ocean, his beatific smile, the surreal sky. Peeta was in awe of the vision and stared at it mutely, as if he had had nothing to do with painting it.

"Can we hang this in the living room?" I asked, not able to take my eyes off of it.

Peeta looked at the exquisite painting again, then back at me with tired but satisfied eyes and whispered "Yes, of course we can." before pulling me onto his lap and holding me for a long while.

The day I recorded Cato, Clove, Marvel, Brutus – our antagonists in the field - was the day I began to perceive that I could learn not only to honor my enemy's lives, but to forgive them. For a person who was not the forgiving kind, this was a big step. I learned to see them as they were – victims of a dehumanizing system that had turned them into creatures who enjoyed the misery of inflicting lonely deaths on children. The rot of hatred that I carried within me was diminished and I was made better by it.

I had yet to add my sister. I had perceived from the beginning of this endeavor that she would be the last spirit I would release. Peeta included his family with the help of his miraculous sketchbook, freeing them somewhat from his tortured memory, though they were sometimes still present in his nightmares. I could not arrive at that finality with her, the book an internment that I did not have the strength to perform. As such she lingered, the last knot remaining to be tied.

This Sunday, we had a date to keep with Effie. We would take her to the bakery and let her have a look around. I sat at my dressing table with Peeta standing behind me as he brushed out my hair. I'd taught him to braid my hair at his request and he took every chance to fix or undo my hair. I smiled at his fixation, watching him in the mirror as he worked with his signature look of concentration, reveling in the relaxation created by his strong fingers on my head as he divided the hair into three sections. He shifted slightly to the right of me and worked the hair over each other until the braid hung down my right shoulder. Taking a green hair-tie (one of several colors from a set he ordered for me), he tied my hair neatly, running his fingers over my braid. A vibration began to hum inside of me that started in my hair and reverberated throughout my body. It was nothing – just fingers on dead hair – yet the breath we both held made the air go still and I closed my eyes, my head tilting slightly as if begging him to put his lips me.

I heard the slight shifting of fabric and opened my eyes to his brilliant blue ones. He had kneeled between my knees and placed his hands on my thighs on either side of him. It was a drowsy kind of passion I felt so I moved to close the space between us, not to kiss, but to place my cheek against him and rub him like Buttercup sometimes did when he wanted to be petted. I took in his smell, the feel of his stubble against my cheek, the heat of his skin as I slid gently across it. At this, he turned his head in towards my neck so his nose skimmed the soft skin there, the beat under the skin accelerating towards him. He moved his own face to slide down further, his cheek resting on my chest as if listening to that treacherous racing drum. I pushed out the breath that I held and found that my lungs had clenched, causing me to pant.

The hands resting on my thighs slid up to my waist and under my sweater. I arched my back as I felt him on my skin, sending a shockwave rippling over my skin. My own fingers fluttered over the buttons of his plaid shirt, the tips skimming his collarbone. I felt his warm, wet lips on my chest and pulled in a ragged breath - he had barely touched me yet I was ready for him. Peeta brought his lips up to mine and gave me a kiss so slow and deep, I was sure it could melt iron. I sank into his soft, warm mouth and gave him everything he wanted. My arms slid under the collar of his now open shirt, running insistently over his back, pushing it off of his shoulders. I wanted to taste him for despite the fact that he had bathed, he always smelled of bread and vanilla so I left a trail of wet, hungry kisses on his shoulders. My fingers ran into his thick hair to pull his head back as I invaded his mouth with my tongue. He gasped against my mouth and our kiss took on a greater urgency, his strong hands pulling my hips towards him until I was seated at the edge of the chair. He dropped his hands to the top button of my pants when the doorbell screeched through the house, making both of us jump out of our stupor.

"Effie!" I hissed.

Peeta dropped his head onto my stomach, shaking it as he tried to catch his breath. "Leave it to Effie to show up early." He half-moaned, leaving wet, sloppy kisses on my belly button.

I shivered in response. "It's okay. At least my braid won't get messed up." I said with false cheerfulness, my body writhing in discomfort.

Peeta looked up and gave me an irritated smirk. "At least you don't have to walk around with a hard-on all day." He said snidely, imitating my tone as I hurriedly buttoned up his shirt.

"Stop being a brat. I'll get the door. Just take a few minutes to yourself, okay?" I offered as I left a chaste kiss on his cheek. He just grunted as he tried to put himself together.

I opened to find Effie, bright and perky, ready for her tour of the bakery. Despite the interruption of what had promised to be an incredibly intense bit of sex, I still had trouble repressing the mirth I felt when I imagined her, hung over in her fluffy bunny pajamas or pummeled fully dressed by the cold water of the shower, victim to Haymitch's twisted caretaking. Today she wore a rather pretty pants-suit in metallic brown with a delicate gold threaded through the fabric, further honoring the season with a gold leaf broach. Her hair was impeccably straightened and, to her credit, she wore sensible, albeit pointy-toed, gold-toned pumps that, while increasing her height by a good 2 inches, were not the precarious stilts she had formerly favored. In her hand was a small clutch, the same color of her shoes. I smiled to myself at this – I never used purses, though my closet was filled with them. I normally made sure that what I wore had pockets so I could stuff the few things I needed into them. She also carried what looked like a very large, chic shopping bag.

In my deep green sweater, cargo pants and boots, I looked positively sloppy next to her.

"Katniss!" she trilled as she placed a kiss on both of my cheeks, her face radiant.

"Effie, you look so pretty. How are you feeling?" I stepped aside as I let her in.

"Oh, good as new! You would have never known I'd gotten falling-down drunk." She laughed at herself, clapping her hands together as if it was the most wonderful accomplishment. I could not help but follow suit with a laugh of my own. "This is for you and Peeta." she said as she handed the enormous bag to me.

The bag was heavy but despite myself, I was excited, resisting the urge to peek inside. "Effie, you shouldn't have bothered!"

"Nonsense! How could I come without bringing my birds a little gift? I didn't bring it the first night because everything was such a mess." She waved her hands as she began admiring the paintings in the vestibule. "These are Peeta's, aren't they? I wasn't paying enough attention the first night I was here."

"Yes, they are mostly Peeta's. Some of the framed sketches are his mother's."

Her eyes grew wide in surprise. "His mother? She drew like that?" Effie put her face practically on top of the glass, as if studying the painting for little green men. She dropped her voice very low. "I thought she was a…eh…not nice woman?" she whispered.

I smiled at Effie. "You mean a bitch?" I whispered back, sniggering at her look of shock before she knowingly nodded. "Yes, she was." I continued in my low voice.

"Oh, yes. Well, then she was a bitch with talent, I see." she whispered right back and we both laughed a little guiltily. She may have been a bitch but she was Peeta's mother and now she was dead.

"Effie, can I offer you anything? I haven't had tea yet today so I'm making some anyway."

She smiled. "That sounds wonderful. You must tell me how you make it – I've never tasted anything like it."

"It's a combination of herbs I find here in the woods. I dry bags of it." I took a paper bag from the pantry and brought it to where she sat at the kitchen table. She opened it and placed her nose delicately over it, smelling the aroma. "You can take it. I have tons of it."

"Oh, Katniss, this smells wonderful. Thank you! Maybe you can tell me how you dry your leaves one day. I noticed there is mint growing along the fence." She rolled the top of the bag and placed it carefully next to her clutch.

I was impressed. I had no idea Effie could tell a tree from a rock, much less identify herbs. "We can go in the woods one day and I can show you how to pick them. Then we can dry them together. Would you like that?"

"Oh very much! My father was a botanist and I loved when he took me into our greenhouse as a child and showed me all his lovely plants. He maintained the largest botanical garden in Panem, you know." She smiled at my shock. "Yes he did. For a child, it is like a magical wonderland." she momentarily got lost in her ruminations before returning to the present. "Yes, that sounds just wonderful!"

I was speechless as I prepared the tea, thinking of Effie as a child running through the well-manicured lanes of a giant garden, not able to reconcile this with big-haired Effie of the games or this well-coiffed woman seated before me. She would never cease to surprise me.

Effie's voice broke into my thoughts. "Do you mind if I look at the other paintings?"

This reminded me that Peeta was taking his sweet time coming downstairs. "Of course not. Go ahead. There are also some in the study, too. Feel free to open any of the doors." Little by little, Peeta had made good on his promise to paint things that were not related to the arena, filling our walls, to my eyes, with the most wonderful pictures and portraits I had ever seen. However, his favorite painting, the one he painted of me on the settee was covered and locked in his study for, as he said, his own personal viewing pleasure.

As if he had known I was thinking of him, Peeta finally came down, a look of infinite peace on his face. I raised a questioning eyebrow to him as he came to me in the kitchen.

"Took you long enough." I teased him.

A furious blush ran over his face. "I…um… had to…you know, calm down after this morning."

I was puzzled by his reaction but at that moment, Effie appeared and the moment was gone. "My dear boy, you look so rugged in that plaid shirt." She greeted him the same way she did me, patting his cheek in addition.

He was immediately riveted by the color of her suit. "What color is that?" he asked, studying it closely.

Effie smiled. "It's metallic brown."

Peeta touched the sleeve. "There's more than just brown. There is gold and bronze thread also. What a great color! I'd love to be able to use it in one of my paintings."

Now she was beside herself with the compliment. "I could give you a swatch from the hem. It's no trouble at all. Maybe you can match the color with that?"

"Oh, I don't want you to ruin your outfit. I can mix it from memory." He said.

I brought the tray to the living room. "I'm sure you both will figure something out." I said with a smile as I served the tea. Peeta helped me with the cups and saucers. "Effie brought us gifts." I sat down on the love seat next to him.

"Why? Your being here is enough." I shook my head. Peeta could be some kind of smooth sometimes.

She giggled at the compliment and took the bag, placing it next to him. "Please, I love seeing people's reactions to my gifts. Open them!"

Setting down his cup, Peeta reached into the bag, gently pulling out the tissue paper. The first was a large perfume set in a brown box with licks of flames on one side of it. I looked at the name on the box. "Fire and Coal" was written in elaborate script on the cover. I studied it for a moment.

"There is a popular fashion line that features a signature fragrance for each of the districts. This is one of the best sellers. It was made to call to mind District 12 and when I sampled it, I had a feeling it could be something you might like. I knew you would never buy it for yourself." It was clear Effie had put a lot of thought into the gift and wanted me to be happy with it. Peeta watched me as I opened the box. Inside, there was a tub of powder, body wash, cream and a large perfume bottle in the shape of a piece of coal with a thick lick of flame emerging from the top of it.

"Peeta, you have the men's version." said Effie, pointing delicately at the bag. He pulled out a smaller box with the same design but with the addition of "_por homme_" on the cover. I opened my perfume and took a sniff of it. It was not a heavy smell at all but earthly and warm. I smelled a semi-sweet flavor of musk, pine and honeysuckle which I instantly loved. "It's perfect, Effie! " I smiled at her. I gave the bottle over to Peeta and he also nodded approvingly. "It's the way she smells anyway – like the woods." he reached over to give me a small kiss on my cheek before gently handing the bottle back.

"It's a fall fragrance, dear." Effie said. Peeta also took a smell of his own bottle and smiled. "This is nice." He passed the bottle to me and I smelled what I understood was the signature flavor of vanilla and wood with an earthier undertone of pine added to the mix. Though no smell would ever compete with the way Peeta smelled each day, this was such a good compliment to him, it was uncanny.

"I attended the official launch of the perfume line. They specifically designed the fragrance with a certain couple in mind. Peeta, yours is a gourmand scent – appropriate for one who spends so much time in a bakery." Effie wagged her finger, winking at Peeta. "Katniss, your perfume features a more balsamic note, sweet but also earthly with a touch of pine. That is why you both have the woodsy smell together with the vanilla." smiled Effie. Peeta and I simply looked at each other.

"Really?" I said, wrinkling my nose. "How strange to have people going around trying to smell like us!" I looked at Peeta and we just chuckled at this.

"Even being outside of the public eye, you are both still trendsetters! I know it is an intimate gift but when I smelled them, I knew they were you." She was desperate to know she had done well.

"We love it." said Peeta. "Thank you."

"You're not done yet, silly. There are other things in the bag.

Looking down, he pulled out a large, old book. Turning it over, his face lit up. "Wow! A recipe book!"

"Not just any recipe book! I found it in an antique shop. These are rustic recipes from before the Dark Days. They feature recipes from the entire country before it was divided into Districts. You will find stories about the regions the dishes come from as well as the recipes themselves. It is more than just a recipe book, Peeta. It is a cultural archive." She was particularly proud of this gift.

Peeta was already thumbing through the book, reading the different passages. "There are journal entries, pictures, essays – it's like no other recipe book I've ever seen. Thanks, Effie! This is too much."

"Nothing will ever be too much for the both of you." she said with some feeling. "The second volume is on its way from the Capitol. It was originally a two volume publication but the second one was in another location."

Peeta's eyes grew wide. "A second volume? That's amazing! It will take me forever just to get through this one."

I put my arm around him and hugged him to me. He was absolutely irresistible when he was happy in this way. "Thank you, Effie, your gifts are so thoughtful."

"Oh, nonsense. There is one last little gift there for you, Katniss. I couldn't just go spoiling Peeta now, could I?"

Looking into my bag, I pulled out a long, rectangular black box. It was light but the box clearly bespoke luxury. I opened it and pulled out the most exquisite shawl I had ever seen. It was woven with intricate colors of the rainbow, the colors themselves changing in mid-thread so that the effect was of a shimmering cascade of color. The thread was delicate but belied a certain sturdiness, seemingly impossible to pull a snag from it. The color itself recalled something vaguely familiar…

"I've never seen material like this before. What is it?" I asked as Peeta ran his hands over the fine cloth.

"It is a new silk-polymer blend which makes the material wearable but also durable. You need accessories, Katniss but you also need them to survive your use." She smiled indulgently.

Peeta stood up with the shawl in hand and put it up to the picture of the sky in the painting of Finnick. "Remarkable…" whispered Peeta. The motif was almost the same as the colors in the painted sky. I stood with him and realized that this is what the scarf reminded me of. Effie lifted her eyes and noticed the similarity also. "The colors seem of a piece with the sky. Do you see it Katniss?" he asked.

"They really are almost the same colors." I conceded.

Effie looked at the painting closely. "Tell me about this picture." she said.

I was still so focused on the painting, it took me a moment to realize she had spoken to me. "It was a dream. I was swimming with Finnick and I told him about his son, Tristen. The dream was so filled with happiness, I had the feeling that maybe, wherever he might be, that happiness belonged to him. He tried to tell me something…" I became lost in the dream that even now had the power to overwhelm me.

"She woke me up in the middle of the night so that we could paint it. It made a big impression on her." explained Peeta. "Your scarf is almost the exact same motif, which is an uncommon one seeing as Katniss dreamed it up."

"That is something." sighed Effie. "You know, my father was something of an amateur philosopher. He would have looked at this and said that you were being sent a sign."

I snorted. "A sign of what? That we both have really good taste in colors?" Peeta shook his head at me but looked intently at Effie.

Effie became thoughtful. "You see, there's no explaining why things occur. Some people think that things happen because they were meant to be and there are signs along the path of a person's life that point them to their destiny. Who or what writes that destiny is anyone's guess." She waved her hand as she said this. "Some people think that things are just a consequence of other things that happened before – a cause and effect chain reaction that is largely dependent on chance and circumstance. In this scenario, you control what occurs through your decisions but you have no way of anticipating the full consequences of your actions. You had a dream and I brought you a shawl. Who can know what it all means?"

I could not believe the turn Effie's mind had taken and marveled once again that she possessed the full power to surprise me over and over. Why had I not noticed her complexity before? Better yet, why had she never revealed this side of herself to us before?

"What would your father say?" asked Peeta.

Effie laughed. "Oh, my dear father! He would have said "Listen to the signs, Effie. When life hands you a gift, you must not turn it away." She dropped her voice to imitate a booming male tone, which made me smile. "He never really cared where these little 'gifts' came from, he was just so adamant that it was important to embrace everything good that comes to us."

We lapsed into silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. It reminded me of something Peeta said when he first came back to District 12: "When I think of my parents, my brothers, I imagine something has to come out of all this pain. There has to be a meaning if only it's the meaning I give it." So who gives meaning to what happens to us? I know that no one in the world means more to me than Peeta. Would it have made a difference if somehow it was our _fate,_ not our own decisions that brought us to where we are, that led us to cling to one another for life? Is Finnick's painting a sign or a coincidence? Does it even matter? Maybe it's vanity to think it had to have happened this way because, in the end, why should I be so important in the grand scheme of things? And yet at one point, I was the most important person in the world. I wonder if that made everything that came before and after any more significant than anything else?

Peeta surprised me by suddenly taking my hand and kissing it, oblivious or not caring that Effie sat not 3 feet away from us. When he looked into my eyes, I felt a tremor run through me at the intensity they held therein. Something shifted around me and I could only catch my breath before it. I sensed something in him but it was not mine to reach at the moment.

Turning to Effie, I held the beautiful creation in my hands. "I'm going to put this scarf in a place where I keep my special things. I think it is the prettiest thing I own, Effie, besides Peeta's pearl." I ran my hand over it one more time before putting it back in the box and replacing the cover.

Effie's eyes brightened at the compliment. "Well, then, I've done my job!" she laughed.

**XXXXX**

**I would absolutely love your reviews on this chapter. For some reason, I am particularly attached to it, perhaps because it represents a half-way point through my story. **

**Be sure to check me out at my tumblr – titania522. I will be posting a preview of chapter 23 very soon!**


	23. Chapter 23

**I originally wrote chapters 22 and 23 as one, long massive chapter. I must thank SolasVioletta who suggested that I divide it. It was, as usual, a wise suggestion as I was able to deepen and rework the chapters which I think made them better. She is really a natural born editor, amongst her many other talents.**

**Thanks to TiffOdair for beta-ing. MADAME BETH has been indispensable in giving feedback on the later scenes. Yes, the lemony ones ****J****. Thank you, my fellow Peeta fangirl!**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Everything Grows by Everlark Pearl. Beautiful story about Katniss' pregnancies. Everything she writes is really worth reading.**

**&Lemon& alert!**

**Chapter 23 – Chance and Circumstance (Part 2)**

_My struggle is harsh and I come back_

_with eyes tired_

_at times from having seen_

_the unchanging earth_

_but when your laughter enters_

_it rises to the sky seeking me_

_and it opens for me all_

_the doors of life._

_-from "Your Laughter" by Pablo Neruda_

**XXXXX**

We set out to for the bakery soon after we opened our gifts. The day was of a crisp autumn perfection, cool air warmed by the now distant sun. It was like a spring day except that the processes of life were taking place in reverse, plants receding instead of blooming. As we took to the road, I breathed in the clean air, overcome with a sudden desire to climb the tallest possible tree until I was so high, I would become a bird flying in the middle of the forest, peering down over the canopy of trees. I held Peeta's hand as I walked but I was so giddy from the feeling that I unconsciously swung my arm, bringing his arm into my rhythm. He smiled down at my silliness and I became sheepish from the attention.

"Someone is happy." He said.

"Very." I looked up, taking the opportunity to give him a peck of the cheek before turning my attention to Effie.

"Everything is still a mess but I think you will get a feel for the layout of the shop." I explained, a bit embarrassed that she was not seeing the final, neat product.

"Don't worry. I'm sure it will be impressive." She seemed excited as she walked along taking in every house we passed. "I remember watching the District 12 memorial. Are these the lamps that were lit around the center?"

"Yes, they are. It was really a beautiful unveiling." I said.

Effie nodded. "It truly was. One day, if you are both up to it, you should see the memorial in the Capitol. It is so lovely and inspiring. Do you know the statues for District 12 were modeled after both of you? The female tribute was sculpted with your signature braid, holding a bow and arrow. The male tribute is holding fire in his hands. You finally got to be the Boy on Fire, Peeta!" She smiled at her own cleverness.

"Oh, er, I guess that's neat." said Peeta, shaking his head at this. I wonder if she understood how very much we did _not _want to be a symbol to anyone anymore?

We walked through the center, allowing her a moment to see the giant, flame-shaped glass sculpture. A small glow was perpetually illuminated, even during the day. I was sure to take a moment to run my fingers over Prim's name – it was my own personal ritual each time I was here. I looked up and caught Effie watching me with infinite sadness but her eyes flitted away quickly, respectfully silent about my gesture.

Soon we were before the bakery, unlocking the large wooden door with a quaint, four-square window. We stepped inside to a blanket of dust covering every surface. The counters were in place, as well as the ovens and kitchen area but the floor still remained to be laid down and the walls still lacked paint, revealing the dry wall and spackling. Being careful not to step on the worker's materials, Peeta excitedly showed her the back office and the incomplete stairs to the small apartment above the bakery. "This is for nights when it is too late to go back home." he explained. She nodded approvingly as she carefully took the stairs.

They roamed the entire shop, chatting animatedly as I stared at the blank walls. To think that only a few months ago, there was nothing but ash and sorrow on this spot and now, we were almost ready to open our own business. I was filled with a tremendous sense of pride. I had helped but this was truly Peeta's triumph, his optimism overwhelming the grief and horrors of the past. I loved him in a thousand different ways but I had never loved him as much as I did at this moment. I was shocked by my own sentimentality – I had never been given to such emotional whims but here I was, I suddenly impatient to see him, struggling to be keep my place as he showed Effie the apartment.

Their voices re-emerged from upstairs as they descended the stairs. "I can't wait until the grand opening! What will you call the bakery? Mellark and Everdeen's Bakery?" chirped Effie.

"Mellark's Family Bakery. It's named after the original one." I corrected as I moved towards Peeta, grasping his hand tightly and leaning into him.

"But it is both of ours. She's worked as hard as I have." added Peeta, flushing slightly at my sudden attention.

Effie looked from me to Peeta, considering something but then simply nodding. "I have no doubt about that." She smiled again. "This is a most wonderful accomplishment. I hope you will consider letting me help you want me to. It would gratify me so much to do something for you." She paused as if wanting to say more but thinking better of it. "So, is there a nice place to eat around here? A café or restaurant?"

"We were planning on having lunch at home." I said, a brief terror washing over me. I had not eaten in a public place ever, determined as I was to avoid unnecessary contact with the rest of the district residents.

"Oh, no, I can't have you slaving over me. We'll make it my treat. I'm just dying to try the local cuisine!"

Peeta, who knew me better than I knew myself, tried to redirect her but there was no changing her mind. He gave me a look of pity which I accepted since it was _him_, after all. It was with morose resignation that I locked the bakery door. I was simply not interested in eating out but it seemed there was no persuading her. Haymitch's irritated voice reverberated in my head_: "Well, hell, if you always wait until you're ready to do things, things would never get done." _I missed the old goat but after his escapades with a drunken Effie, he was persona non grata right now, at least with her. I sighed at the inevitability of it all. Peeta pulled me in close to him and gave me a reassuring squeeze, his eyes wearing the intensity of just earlier this afternoon. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but we set off instead.

I didn't even know the local places to eat so we headed toward the Hob, now known as the Marketplace. Peeta had heard of a small eatery that had recently opened. As we walked along, a familiar figure approached us from across the street. I smiled involuntarily as I realized it was Mayor Greenfield, dressed in a casual sweater and dark pants. His lack of pretention was something I liked very much about him, so different from other district officials. Next to him walked a handsome young boy with blond hair like his father's but the wide set of his chocolate brown eyes and the aquiline nose did not recall him at all. No doubt, the resemblance belonged to the mother.

"We were just showing the bakery to our friend." explained Peeta after greeting him. "Effie Trinket, this is Mayor Greenfield and his son Wesley." She gave the Mayor her hand in greeting, a slight flush overtaking her cheeks.

"A pleasure to meet you. I recall you were the District 12 escort." He said with his characteristically even voice.

"I prefer not to think of that role anymore. Now I am happily just their grateful guest." she smiled demurely. Effie was never reserved, yet now she seemed cowed by the Mayor. Perhaps it was his relative position of authority. In the past, District 12 Mayors had some privileges with respect to other citizens. However, he would always be considered a District 12 resident by even the lowliest Capitol citizen and therefore not worthy of deference. It was most certainly not enough to keep the last Mayor from being incinerated alive together with his family. I pushed the ungracious thought from my head.

"It is nice to see the both of you out and about for a relaxing walk instead of your usual mad dash to get things ready for the opening." Greenfield turned to Effie. "Watching them running around with their errands makes me exhausted just to look at them."

Effie smiled brightly at this. "I think it's their nature to do everything as competently as possible. I am trying to persuade them to let me help them out. I have rather good organizational skills."

"Yeah, you're a regular taskmaster when it comes to keeping your schedule." quipped Peeta. We all laughed at this.

"Are you heading anywhere in particular?" asked Greenfield.

"We're going to try out the new restaurant on the square. Are you familiar with it?" I asked.

"You mean the Meadow's place? Yes, they serve an excellent currant turkey. I have to suggest that you try it."

"Well, if you recommend it, we'll definitely try it." Peeta turned to Wesley. "What's your favorite baked treat?"

The boy started in surprise in the way that well-brought up young people could be when being addressed before a group of adults. "Um, bearclaws, Mr. Mellark."

"It's Peeta, by the way. When the bakery opens, I will have one reserved just for you, okay? Don't forget to stop by."

The boy's eyes brightened at this. "For me? Really?"

"Really. Your dad already promised." Peeta glanced at Mayor Greenfield, who nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Mr…eh, Peeta." he flushed as if he were speaking to a celebrity. In some ways, I guess he was. If Peeta kept this up, he might end up asking for an autograph.

"Well, we're off." said the Mayor. "Our lunch is waiting for us."

Effie burst out with uncharacteristic nervousness. "Would you care to join us? There is no reason why you can't guide us through the menu yourself." I looked at her with no small shock. Invite the Mayor? It hadn't even occurred to me. I mentally kicked myself for having the manners of a mule.

Wesley seemed like he was going to jump out of his skin with excitement. "Please, dad! I can tell all my friends I had lunch with Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen!"

"Wesley." warned Greenfield with a menacing parent's voice.

"And don't leave out Effie Trinket, baker's assistant par excellence." She said, her eyes bright and dancing with mirth. Wesley blushed but smiled at her attention.

"Effie Trinket too!" he laughed.

"Good man!" she clapped her hands.

"Well, it seems it's settled." Greenfield smiled, his irritation with his son evaporating. Soon we fell into step, walking towards the restaurant.

**XXXXX**

The Mayor did not exaggerate. Not only was the currant turkey delicious but the appetizers and dessert left nothing to be desired. Typical of District 12, each dish managed to be something unique. Its familiarity was comforting to a person who though squirrel was a treat. Peeta examined every dish for its composition, trying to identify the ingredients. He tore at the crusty rolls, smelling them before taking a bite. I leaned over and whispered wickedly, "Your buns are a thousand times tastier" which earned me a strategically placed pinch on my hip. Perhaps upon being told who he was cooking for, the head cook came out to chat with us, giving Peeta the answers to his questions about the currant glaze, the potatoes and the buttercream orange frosting on the cake. The conversation was lively, between Effie, Peeta and Greenfield. I even managed to add a bit to the general exchange. Though I didn't say very much, I actually enjoyed myself far more than I thought I would.

I admired the small restaurant. It had the feel of a mine shaft, with large wooden rafters hung with the signature lamps of District 12. The walls were made of stone - shelving and serving stations carved directly into the stone. Normally mines terrified me but the atmosphere was simple, cozy and warm. The tables were set elegantly but they were not pretentious, containing just the necessary utensils and not the ornate arrangements that were typical in the Capitol. Our servers wore a casual uniform of brown pants and white button down shirts with an apron hanging over, serving us with quiet reserve as if we were just any ordinary group of people and not the Mayor, the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12 and their famous former escort.

Peeta held my hand under the table when he did not need it to eat, running his thumb over my knuckles even as he chatted up the place with Effie. He brought such steadiness to everything he did and that in turn steadied me. I knew he was enjoying this rare treat of socializing, being affable by his very nature and his pleasure made me glow. Any discomfort I might have felt was meaningless next to this. Effie was in excellent form, asking questions to stimulate the conversation, saying very few ridiculous things. She was all another person from the shrill lady correcting everyone's manners during the Victory Tour. She even managed to draw Wesley into the conversation, regaling him with a description of how documentaries were produced and the names of famous people for whom she had been responsible.

"Are you staying long, Ms. Trinkett?" asked Greenfield at one point.

"I've taken a leave of absence from my current employer. I'll be here at least through the Grand Opening. Then we will see. It's all very up in the air right now." she smiled warmly at Greenfield.

"That's very good to hear." He paused, as if remembering himself. "I mean, Peeta and Katniss will surely appreciate the help." he responded with equal warmth.

It suddenly occurred to me that Effie was flirting with the Mayor. In fact, now that I was observing them, it seemed they were equally engaged with each other. Though they did not exclude anyone else from their discussions, they directed many of their comments to each other. I had to admit that Effie looked positively radiant – it would have been hard for anyone to overlook her. The poor Mayor didn't stand a chance. I looked over at Peeta to see if he, too, noticed anything but if he did, he wasn't letting on. He was too busy speaking to Wesley about the new school and telling him sanitized stories of his own school days, which were honestly not that long ago. Effie drew me into her conversation and soon it was late afternoon.

Greenfield and Wesley walked us to the pillars of Victor's Village. We thanked him for the recommendation and he mildly scolded Effie for picking up the tab for everyone.

"It was my idea and it was the least I could do for your kind attention today." She positively purred.

"Next time, you are my guest." said Greenfield before catching himself and turning to Peeta and me. "You are all my guests. And I always honor my commitments." He laughed, shaking hands with us. "The center is actually a bustling place during the week. You must be sure to come to town and visit the shops and stands." He directed this to Effie. "That would be my place over there." He pointed at the Justice Building, visible even from where we stood.

"Nice digs." she laughed. On that note, we parted ways.

There was no containing Effie as we walked back to our home. She twittered on and on about the Mayor and what they ate and how wonderful was the restaurant service, how it had far exceeded her expectations. She seemed like a lit firecracker about to explode and I only hoped for my sanity that she did it elsewhere. I was satisfied with the afternoon but longed for some time alone with Peeta to process everything. This was the first time I eaten in a public place with people I actually liked and my senses were overwhelmed. Peeta politely asked her to come in for tea but she demurred, claiming that she still had things to organize at home.

"This was just a wonderful afternoon. Thank you both." she said sincerely.

"We enjoyed it also, Effie. We have to take the Mayor up on his offer." said Peeta.

"Oh, I'm sure we will. Good bye then!" She seemed to bounce back to her house.

Once inside, I kicked off my boots and flopped down on the sofa. "Did you see Effie get her flirt on with the Mayor?" I asked as soon as Peeta had settled in next to me.

"I thought I was imagining it. It looked pretty mutual to me." He placed my feet on his lap and rubbed the tension out of them. "She was especially nice to Wesley."

"Maybe she was trying to impress? I mean, you know, single dad and all…" I was becoming like jelly in his hands as he rubbed circles into my arches.

"We might have her as a permanent neighbor." he joked.

"It wouldn't be half bad, would it?" I said.

Peeta looked at me in askance. "That's a turn-around from just a few days ago."

I sighed. "I know but I'm telling you, Effie Trinkett is not the same bubble-head we used to know. Maybe she never was. Do you think she acted ditzier than she really was to keep herself safe from the Capitol? Maybe she is cleverer than we give her credit for."

"Without a doubt." His hand was moving slowly up my leg. I was close to moaning in pleasure at his skilled massaging.

I let my head loll on my shoulders before looking at him. "Want to go upstairs and lay down for a little bit?" The last thing on my mind was sleep but sometimes, I was still too shy to ask.

He sensed my mood and took me by the hand, leading me upstairs. When I returned from the bathroom, he had already stripped down to his shorts and was under the covers. I undressed slowly, making sure he watched me and slipped in next to him. He pulled me to him right away and began lavishing my neck and shoulders with kisses. A sudden thought occurred to me.

"Peeta, why did you take so long to come down this morning?"

He stopped kissing me to look up at me. "I was getting myself together. You know, after this morning."

"For twenty minutes?" I probed, running my hands along his shoulders and arms.

"I was really excited…" he hedged.

I knew there was something under that hesitation and I had an idea what it was, which excited me. His hesitation served only to arouse me further. I put my lips to his earlobe and nipped it before whispering "Tell me the truth."

He shivered at this and caved immediately. "I was…relieving myself."

I smiled a slow smile. "Oh, and how?" I was feeling wicked with the idea of him actually saying it.

"I…you know…masturbated." He said sheepishly.

"Really?" I fairly salivated. "What were you thinking about when you were _relieving yourself_?

He became deliciously nervous. "I…I was thinking of you."

I ran my leg over his good leg, shifting further into him. "And what was I doing in your little fantasy?" I purred into his ear.

I could feel his breath quickening, his hand squeezing my arm. "I have…um…a few of them. They are personal fantasies I have sometimes. Just…you know…things I like to imagine..."

"Tell me. Maybe we can do something about them…" I was busy kissing his neck, licking the tender skin behind his ear.

"Ah, I can't really think when you do that." He mumbled.

"You're stalling." I said into his neck.

He took a deep breath. "I imagined watching you…touching yourself…" he was panting just at the idea of it. "You were making yourself come while I watched you."

I felt everything south of my belly clench up with inflamed desire. "I was touching myself?"

He nodded, swallowing hard.

I was a bit mortified by the idea of him watching me doing something so intimate and yet, a fever had taken over me. Hearing him speak in this way made every synapse in my brain fuse together.

"I'll touch myself for you, in exchange for one thing." I whispered.

He pulled back to look at me, his eyes going dark with his desire. "Anything." he said.

"You have to let me watch you too." I said. A small part of me that still possessed some shame blanched at the idea but I pushed that part resolutely away. "The idea of you…doing that…makes me so hot, Peeta." I hissed.

A look of pure shock passed over his face. "Really? That…turns you on?"

"You have no idea how many things you do that turn me on." I moaned as I slid my hand down to grab hold onto him, running my fingers along his shaft, making him groan. There was a small, sane, prudish little me standing over my shoulder, arms crossed, huffing angrily at my lustful abandon. It was the part of me who had to have control, needed things to progress in just a certain way to feel safe.

_Fuck safe._ I wanted him in obscene ways. I had almost lost him so many times that there would not be enough time in this world to do the things that I wanted to do with him.

"Okay." was all he seemed to be able to say.

He pulled back, moving the blanket out of the way. He gave me a long, deep kiss that made my head spin. I pulled myself up on the pillows so I was reclining against the headboard, moving my legs up and widening them so that he could settle between them. I felt a fierce blush run over my chest and neck when I considered his unobstructed view of me. I pulled him in to kiss me again, bringing his hand up to touch my breast. When he brought his lips to my nipples, I became delirious, letting my hand wander down my belly, over my hair until I felt my own wet heat. He leaned back to watch as I let my fingers slide between my folds, bathed in my own moisture. He pushed my legs wider apart and took hold of himself. My breath began to come in gasps as I watched his hand move up and down over himself, one hand on his shaft, the other on one of my thighs. I reached forward to kiss his jaw, his neck, down his chest but he gently pushed me back on the pillow, taking my hand and putting it back on myself.

He was riveted by the circles I drew over the small nub that was the push-button for all of my desire. My circling increased in pressure and became more insisted as I felt myself build, moans of pleasure escaping my lips. With my other hand, I slipped a finger inside of me the way he often did. This elicited a groan from him as he pumped himself in earnest, the movement becoming frenetic when I slipped a second one inside of me.

I began to match the rhythm of my fingers, a rhythm that he followed with his hand. I was squirming at this point, feeling myself closing in on my own release, my breath escaping me in noisy gasps. I was not myself in any way I could recognize. Looking him in his eyes, I pulled my fingers out of myself and put them in my mouth, trying to acclimate myself to my own taste. His face crumpled at this, half in pain, half in desire. I pulled my fingers out of my mouth and slipped them into his. The feeling of him sucking on my fingers, sucking _me __off_ of his fingers was the final push that sent me over the edge. "Peeta!" I hissed as I clenched my legs together, the waves took over me but he would not have that, pushing my legs apart so he could watch me come, forcing me to arch my back to relieve the incredible pressure that was now spilling out from me.

He continued to pump himself and rose up on his knees, one hand holding the bed above me, the other stroking until he finally he began to shake. I let my hands roam the length of his chest, his well sculpted arms as I ran my legs over his thighs. "Katniss, I'm coming." he moaned, a tremor overtaking him as his own explosion landed on my belly and chest, warm and thick over my skin. He continued to pump himself until he had emptied himself completely onto me. His breath came in rough gasps, his head dropping onto his chest as he attempted to control himself. Watching him come in that way made me want him again but I knew I had to give him a moment before I could hope to feel him buried inside of me. I grabbed tissues from the nightstand and wiped my breasts and stomach. Tossing the used paper, I pulled him down on top me.

"That was so good." I whispered as I ran my hands over his shoulders and back. "Was it better than your fantasy?" I asked.

He chuckled into my shoulder. "You have no idea."

I smiled at this but I was still hungry for him, so I pushed him back onto the bed and kissed him deeply. When we came up for air, he simply stared up at me. "I should take you out more often."

I took his lip between mine and sucked on it, ending in a small bite. "It's not the going out or the restaurant or the company. I love you, Peeta. That's all." I ran my lips down his neck and across his collarbone.

He moaned in response, his hands running down my sides and over my bottom, squeezing and kneading them as he would his delicious bread. I pressed into him as I kissed his chest, sucking on his nipples, making him arch against me, for a change. I reached down between us to stroke him, feeling him harden in my hands. Wasting no time, I lifted myself over him and eased myself down, feeling him enter me deeply, a long moan escaping me. I ground myself into him as I rotated my hips until his breath came out in noisy pants, my name mixed with other words tumbling out of his mouth. He held my hips as he lifted me up and slid me back down, quickly finding a rhythm that made me bounce on him. He brought one hand up to my breast, squeezing it, teasing out the nipple until it ached, pulling me down to capture it in his mouth. His teeth grazing over it before giving his attention to the other one, making me moan his name loudly. He splayed one large hand over my bottom, using it to guide my movements. His tongue on my breasts together with the angle of his entry made everything in my abdomen coil. With one, determined thrust, he pushed me over the edge and I came so wildly, I had no choice but to scream his name again into his neck, biting down hard on his shoulder. Several more powerful thrusts brought his release and he shuddered as he emptied himself inside of me.

I lay over him as we came down from our high, listening to his steady heart slowing to normal under my ear. How many times had I fallen asleep to that sound, the only anchor during my stormy nights? I peppered his chest with lazy kisses, feeling particularly sentimental. There were days when I lay in terror of what I would become if I lost Peeta and envisioned a clingy, needy creature in my place. I was so accustomed to being the strong one, the caretaker that this thing we had between us threatened to disarm me completely and it scared me to death. I shivered, squeezing him to me as I whispered "I love you so much, Peeta" into his chest. I thought I said it so low that he might not have heard me but I felt myself being pulled up so that his lips kissed mine gently.

He looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide something. He took a deep breath, running his fingers over my face. "Isn't it amazing to you to see the things we've built together?" He whispered as he studied me intently.

I just nodded, my chest tightening. I wasn't sure if there was such a thing as fate but I felt something in the very ether vibrate, and I trembled with the expectation that something was about to come.

"We aren't supposed to be here, you know." He continued. "By all accounts, the odds were not in our favor." He breathed in again deeply. "We were most certainly not supposed to be happy. But despite that, here we are."

I felt tears at the edge of my eyes. "Yes, here we are."

"Are you feeling brave?" he smiled at me.

I gripped him to me. "I've never felt brave in all my life."

"But you _are_ brave, the bravest girl in the world." He kissed me. "The strongest, gentlest, noblest girl I have ever known and I want to spend every minute of the rest of my life with you. It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow or even next year…" There was the door and he was opening it for me.

I nodded vigorously, my tears flowing freely now but I held myself back. _Let him say it, Katniss_.

He put his hand on my chin, turning my head up to look at him. I could feel him trembling beneath me as he took a deep breath. "Marry me, Katniss. Be my wife." He looked at me with such exquisite fear and naked vulnerability, it broke my heart. I could shatter him with my terror, my insecurities. I could push him back again and he would wait, I know he would, even through the agony of my rejection. But that colored tapestry of music and light, the story of our lives would be written differently today.

"Take your name?" I asked.

"Yes." He looked puzzled but chuckled. "Take my name."

"Katniss Mellark?" I savored the name like so many chocolate drops on my tongue.

"Katniss Mellark." He whispered reverently.

"Okay." I whispered.

"Okay?" He looked down at me with incredulity but it evaporated when he saw my smile.

"Okay, Peeta, I'll marry you. I'll take your name. I'll spend every minute of the rest of my life with you. It was what I was planning to do anyway." I yelped when he flipped me over, hardly letting me finish my sentence, pressing me down into the mattress as he kissed me over and over.

"I had this whole speech ready." His voice caught as he said this. "I was sure you were going to make me work for this one." He laughed and sobbed at the same time, his blue eyes bright with tears and joy all mashed together. Seeing him in this way, I could not stem my own tears and they ran down over my face, onto the bed, mixing with his as he covered my face with kisses. We became a sodden, noisy mess of tears, kisses and laughter.

I suddenly understood what Finnick was trying to tell me: the source of the endless joy in his painting, the infinitely colored kaleidoscope of Effie's shawl, the clear air of an afternoon shared in the company of friends, the limitless love I felt for this boy who appeared in the rain to give me life.

_My dandelion in spring. The promise that life could be good again._

It was here. This happiness belonged to us, if we were brave enough to take it and make it our own. Demons would emerge from all sides to rob us of this – flashbacks, nightmares, grief. But we were together and would face them down as we had all the many other obstacles in our lives before.

There were signs, whether by accident or placed there by some agency that planned out the course of our lives. But it was a cowardly thing to not take the good things that life offered, whether they were offered willingly or not. I felt something wanting to pull me back, a paralyzing force but I mentally swatted it away. _No fear. Not today_.

Silently thanking Finnick in my heart, I put my hands on both sides of Peeta's face and kissed him. "I lied. I think I'm feeling very brave."

**XXXXX**

**It wouldn't be Katniss if she soon didn't have a little angst over this.**

**If you would like a list of all the rec's I've made in this story as well as other gems I have found in my readings, visit titania522, where I have a fanfiction rec's page. I add to the list each week, as there are so many talented writers in this fandom. **

**Your reviews are so precious to me. I respond to all of my reviews unless you are a Guest, because the system won't let me. Come out of Guest mode and let me send you love!**

**Until Chapter 24!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 – Announcements**

**Thanks for your reviews! I love them, especially when I am in a meeting and I open my phone and see your encouragement. It makes the droning that much more bearable :).**

**Thanks to the incomparable TiffOdair for her usual beta wonderfulness. Be sure to check out my one-shot Persuasion. If you think I should make this into a multi-chapter fic, just let me know. It is an AU story about what would have happened if Finnick hadn't interrupted Katniss and Peeta on the Beach during the Quarter Quell. The consequences will be far-reaching.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: The People of Panem vs. Katniss Everdeen by fnur. It's from Haymitch's POV and it is a treat as it gives an account of Katniss' trial after she assassinates Coin. She is a writer of true polish and skill.**

**XXXXX**

"We're going to be late again." I huffed in irritation as I raced out of the shower and hurriedly got dressed. In contrast to my hectic pace, Peeta was practically moving in slow motion. I absolutely hated being late to my appointments, in the same way I hated when people made me wait for them. Normally, Peeta was even more diligent than me, which made his snail crawl that much more annoying.

"Peeta!" I snapped.

"Don't. Care." He shrugged with a huge smile, pulling on his clothes slowly.

"What do you mean, you don't care? They'll be delivering the tile at nine, and I know for a fact we did not order enough for the upstairs…"

"Yes, we did." He said in a little sing-song voice.

"Even if there is enough, if we aren't there to open when they deliver…"

"Then they'll wait." said Peeta. He was repressing a laugh as he watched me in the throes of a full swivet. I brushed my hair vigorously as he came up behind me and rubbed my back. "Calm down. You're going to give yourself a stroke." He chuckled again at me, taking the brush out of my hand and braiding my hair for me.

It was hard for me to calm down, even if he was rubbing me in that absolutely perfect way that he knows will make me turn to melted butter in his hands. I had agreed to _marry_ him, for heaven's sake! I wanted to jump out of my skin from a combination of fear, anxiety and excitement. Nothing had materially changed since last night – I was still Katniss and he was still Peeta – but now we were connected in a different way and my poor brain needed to find a way to function and process this new reality at the same time.

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta brought his lips to my ears. "You realize you are my _fiancé_ now." He whispered, hugging me from behind.

I shivered from a wave of borderline terror which I fervently hoped he would mistake for passion. I couldn't bear to disappoint him. He looked like the whole world could implode and he would still be standing in the middle of the debris with what Haymitch would call "_that stupid, doofy grin of his_." Peeta was beyond happy. If he wasn't careful, he'd float right out the window. On my side, I knew I would not be able to keep any food down. Last night, in bed with him, agreeing to marry him had appeared to be the most perfect idea in the world and it still was. I loved him and didn't want to be parted from him. Marriage for two people who were living together was the next logical step. But in the light of day, the shift I had felt last night revealed the myriad tethers of trivialities – the announcements, the good wishes, the unwanted attention. I was perfectly content with the circumscribed life we lived – I absolutely blanched at inviting anyone into it, even with the pretense of sharing my joy.

"That would make you _my_ fiancé too." I smiled, trying to get back in touch with the joy I felt last night, pushing my fear violently away. His doofy smile took over his face, lighting up his eyes.

"How perceptive." He said wryly, reaching down to take my hand. "Now you have to walk with your hand straight out in front of you so that everyone can see your ring." He laughed, surely knowing I would be the last girl in the world to do that.

After he proposed and I accepted (with an interval of wet, sloppy making out to cap off the event), he pulled out the black box and timidly handed it to me. How different was this proposal from the clichéd one he had made in front of the Capitol audiences, over-dressed in his suit and on one knee? Instead, we were naked in our bed, swollen and sated from a rather inspired bit of lovemaking, wrapped in blankets and huddled over this lovely velvet box. When I opened it, I saw that he had set his grey pearl in a ring of solid white gold. I was overwhelmed by its beauty but what finally turned me into a weepy, sentimental mess of hiccupping sobs was the inscription in the ring: "_K&P_ _Always_." It was not film-worthy by any means but it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

So the idea of people pawing at my hand to look at very same pearl, _our pearl_, made me want to climb the highest tree in the forest and hide until summer returned. That pearl still represented a tangible part of Peeta, the part I'd clung to in those dark, confusing days in District 13. My heart raced and my breathing began to shorten. I balled my hand into a fist, covering the ring with my other hand, fairly snarling at the imaginary hands trying to touch it. It wasn't a trinket to be trifled with.

I took his hand with the pretense of being late and tugged him down the stairs and out the door towards the bakery but Peeta had other plans and pulled me over in the direction of Haymitch's house instead. "I've got to tell somebody." he said with unabashed joy. He didn't even bother knocking on the door, just bursting inside like a giant ship, while I simply tried not to drown in his wake. Haymitch looked up impassively from the table. "Good morning and thanks for knocking. One day you're gonna walk in on me with some girl. Let's see if you'll be smiling then." He grumbled.

Even in my condition, the thought of Haymitch doing anything with a woman made me chortle. "Yeah, you're right. We'll be too busy gagging."

Peeta laughed heartily at this while Haymitch gave me the stink eye. He was about to say something cutting when Peeta interrupted him.

"We're engaged, you old drunken fart!" He burst out.

The look of shock on Haymitch's face was worth the embarrassment of the announcement and I grinned despite the fact each nerve in my body was about to snap. He recovered fairly quickly – he was Haymitch after all – his face settling into his signature sneer.

"How the hell did you convince her to do that? Did you pay her or something?"

Peeta shook his head. "Nope. Just plain, old fashioned begging." I swatted at him playfully as he grabbed me around the waist to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

"I'm surprised she's not up in a tree or shooting an animal or something. I'm impressed, kid." He directed this towards me with a sincere smile. My stomach shriveled up inside of me. If only he knew. "You got a ring?"

He caught my extended hand, examining the ring carefully. It was not common practice in the districts to wear an engagement ring, as very few people could afford the luxury. He released my hand, nodding his approval. At that moment, a screech could be heard outside the window. Haymitch stood up quickly to look out on his front lawn, swaying on his feet.

"Damned geese! I should just bake those goddamned birds. Some of them got out." He tried to move towards the door but stumbled.

"Whoa, old man. I'll round them up. You stay there and try not to kill yourself." said Peeta as he walked quickly out of the house to catch the errant fowl.

Haymitch watched him go down the stairs. "Played him like a fiddle, I did." he chuckled as he walked with complete composure back to his chair while I looked on with shock. It never ceased to amaze me how cunning he could be.

"So, how do you feel?" he asked, looking at me intently. "Honestly."

I took a deep, ragged breath. "Scared out of my mind."

Haymitch nodded at this. "You're shaking like a leaf. He's so over the moon he can't tell. Why did you say yes?"

I was taken aback by the question. "Because I love him! Why else would I agree to marry him?" It irritated me that he would think I'd have some other reason. There was no more show – nobody watching.

"Good, good. So what are you so scare of? He's a good person, the best I've ever known. He'll take care of you – he's already proven that. You already live together like a married couple. What is that clap-trap brain telling you?"

The squawking of the geese were not enough to distract me from his question. "I just…there are a lot of things…" I wanted to have this conversation but the words became stuck in my throat. "I…he's going to want everyone to know and I'm just afraid of all of the attention. I don't want anyone near us." I shivered at the idea of people, endless painted faces staring at my life. "I don't think I can handle that again."

"Well, you never let fear keep you from doing what you needed to do before. Guess this isn't any different, right?"

"No." I became resentful of my anxiety. I was happy, I truly was. But I was also a profoundly damaged person and no part of my life would remain unscathed. "I really want this." I whispered, close to tears.

"Just make sure he understands that if you hesitate, it is not because you don't want what he wants or that you don't feel the same way he does. It's important, Katniss, okay? I know you both pretty well. If you ever felt the need to clear the air with him before, this is definitely the time to do so." He became positively paternal on this point, taking my hand and squeezing it. "Promise me you'll be mature about this."

I nodded mutely, taking in his words. I felt the weight of his message and yet I also felt better just acknowledging my fear out loud to someone who truly did understand the both of us. When Peeta returned from his escapades with the geese, we had lapsed into that companionable silence of which we were both capable. I felt lighter than when I entered.

"Your birds are locked up. Are we ready?" _Now he notices how late we are?_

I got up to walk out with him when Haymitch called to us. "Hey!" we turned back to him to see him standing awkwardly, his arm moving up, then down as if not knowing what to do with it. Upon controlling the wayward limb, he extend a hand to Peeta, who took it before pulling our old mentor into a hug, slapping Peeta on the shoulder, a tender smile on his face. "You did good, kid. You did real good." Peeta closed his eyes as if trying to control himself while he whispered "Thank you." It suddenly occurred to me that, had this been a kinder life, he would have been getting these well-wishes from his own father and the thought of what Peeta was missing filled me with incredible sadness.

Releasing him, he then turned to me and put a small peck on my cheek. "Yeah, I, uh, I'm proud of both of you." He said simply as he took a shot glass in hand and raised it to both of us, but his gaze was directed particularly towards me. "You both have my blessing." He gulped his drink and smacked the glass back down on the table.

**XXXXX**

Thankfully, the day was so busy, we had barely any more time to talk about our engagement. The finishing touches of the bakery were being added and even when we returned home, there was the matter of hiring at least one assistant. This is when we began studying applications – there were several of them, as some people in the district were still struggling and a job at a shop would go a long way towards helping a family get ahead. We were overwhelmed by early evening - I had no idea on which basis I should hire someone. We gave up and cooked dinner instead, leaving the personnel question unresolved, which added to my general stress level. I would help in the bakery but I did not really want to serve customers if I could help it. I did not have the personality for working in the public, though if I had to, I would. Something shriveled up in my stomach at the sight of a sea of people before me, waiting to be served.

My ruminations were interrupted by a knock on the door. Leaving Peeta to fill the minced pies, I opened to find Effie in all of her fashionable glory. The color of her evergreen dress on her trim figure made her look like one of the forest sprites of my childhood fables. This time, she went for nude shoes with a matching belt that softened the bold color of the dress.

"Effie!" I tried for cheerful but it was hard to hide exhaustion in my own voice.

Her whole body seemed to flutter like the wings of a hummingbird as she walked in, filled with excited energy. "I went to town today and visited the market. What adorable things they offer there! What a difference from only a year ago! Hello Peeta!" she chirped as he poked his head around the door to see who it was. "You are busy so I will just leave these with you. They are heidelberries – we can dry them for the tea. They have such a bold, bitter flavor." she exclaimed.

I felt Peeta walk up next to me. "We were going to stop by and see you after dinner." He looked at me meaningfully as my eyes fairly screamed _we were?_ "But since you're here, we'll save you the trip. We have a little surprise for you too." His grin was so big, I couldn't help but get caught up in it. Effie looked to each of us with expectation.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "He proposed to me Effie. We're engaged. Really engaged." I said with as steady a voice as I could muster. Her eyes grew wide, a bright smile overtaking her delicate features. I then braced myself for the inevitable explosion.

"Oh, my! Congratulations, my love birds!" she squealed and drew out every syllable as she pulled us both in to an enormous hug. "Engaged! How perfectly marvelous! Oh, I remember saying to Haymitch when I first arrived that you should throw a wedding to celebrate all of the wonderful things you've accomplished together. Engaged! Oh!" The whirlwind of her excitement wrung delicate tears from her eyes. "Have you set a date yet?"

"Er, no." I stammered. "We have a bakery to open first…"

"We're not in a hurry. But as soon as we have a date, we'll let you know." said Peeta.

"You absolutely must! You will have so many well-wishers. It will be a perfect fairytale…"

I felt the nausea cramp my stomach again as I interrupted her. "We haven't discussed all the details but I don't think we want anything big. We'll probably stick to the District 12 tradition, which is a very simple ceremony involving few people."

Effie wisely checked her enthusiasm and simply smiled at us. "Why don't you come this evening after your dinner and we can have a bit of champagne to celebrate? I'll even invite that devil Haymitch, if you like." She offered in appeasement.

Peeta shook his head. "We'll take that up another night. We have to look over a few things for tomorrow before going to bed. Just be happy for us. That will be enough."

"I am! Oh, all your friends will be so happy to hear about his…"

I froze at these words. "Please, Effie, don't mention it to anyone in the Capitol." A vision of paparazzi descending on our house filled me with mortal terror. "We are trying to keep this quiet – I don't want to find journalists camped out on our front lawn." I shivered at the thought. "Please?" I asked plaintively.

Effie gave me an indulgent look as if she had just slipped me a cookie before dinner. "Of course! My lips are sealed!"

With that, she gave us another peck each on the cheek and took her leave. As soon as the door closed, my body began to shake uncontrollably. I turned towards Peeta and threw my arms around his neck, clinging to him, trying to absorb his steadiness to calm myself. It helped a little but I could not keep my anxiety from overtaking me. I took a deep breath, turning in to kiss his neck. I wanted to run and run until I reached the end of the world, then run some more. He squeezed me back, sensing that I was overcome, not knowing that I was fighting with every fiber of my being to not withdraw from him. I needed to get to the woods and think for a little bit and yet, if I left, who knows how he would take it?

"Hey, you're going to strangle me!" He said, looking at me with a furrowed brow. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course. I'm just – wow – we're getting married." My laugh was strange even to my ears.

He smiled, though it was a bit smaller now. "Well, we're actually engaged. We'll get married whenever we are ready. You understand that, don't you? Don't let Effie scare you into thinking you have to do something you don't want to do." Now his smile was gone as if it had gone down a drain. "Unless, you don't want to…"

My eyes went wide with shock. "No, not at all! Of course I want to marry you!" I could see relief wash over his features. I wasn't going to win any awards by deceiving him and I was a lousy liar anyway. "Peeta, I just want this engagement to belong to us, not to anyone else. I want to marry in peace, do a private toasting and maybe invite the ten most important people in our lives to dinner afterwards. I'm terrified if I think that of our wedding will become circus. Just the idea of a mob of people trying to see us get married makes me sick to my stomach. You know what I mean?"

Peeta touched my face with the back of his hand, caressing it gently. "Yes, I do get it and it is exactly what I want also. Effie comes from a district where everything is over the top. There is no sense of privacy or reserve and a lot is done for show. We aren't like that so there is no reason for you to fear that that will happen. _I_ won't let that happen. Please, just be calm. You've been strung out the whole day. This is supposed to be something that should make us happy, not stressed."

I put my forehead against his chest, my breathing beginning to slow, the day's tension resulting in an exhaustion so overwhelming, I could close my eyes and fall asleep on my feet. "I wanted to call mom and tell her. I think she'd be so happy but I'm wiped out. Do you mind if I just head up to bed?" I yawned widely as I spoke.

Peeta chuckled. "No, I don't mind but don't you want to eat first?"

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry. I just want a nice warm shower and sleep."

"Okay, I'll be up shortly."

I dragged myself through my shower, opting to put on one of Peeta's flannel shirts because the chill was very pronounced this evening. Shivering, I crawled under the covers, trying to still my mind. I fell asleep to visions of crowds roaring around us, clawing like wild beasts who had not seen prey in a long while. Suddenly I was in the wedding dress I was forced to wear during the night of the interviews before the Quarter Quell, it's heaviness even more pronounced than it had been that night, so heavy and thick that the fabric wrapped around my legs, making it impossible to move. Strange Capitol creatures were shredding the dress off of my body until I was naked but still the pawing continued on my raw skin. I searched for Peeta but he had disappeared, leaving me with an audience of thousands, each person trying to take away a piece of me. I called his name in desperation, trying to get away from their greedy hands as I searched for him in the crowd. It wasn't until I heard my name and felt those familiar arms around me, thick hands stroking my hair that I realized I had been screaming out into the night, the sound of his name still ringing in my ears as Peeta tried to wake me. With a start, my eyes flew open and I was back in the safety of our room, the heat of his body surrounding me like a warm cocoon.

"I'm here, baby. It's okay. It was just a dream." He murmured into my hair, rocking the nightmare away until the crowds evaporated, leaving just the sound of his comfort and my ragged breathing instead.

"They were tearing me apart and I couldn't find you. They wouldn't stop touching me." I trembled as I said this into his chest, pushing my face further into him as if I could climb inside of him, locking the evil world outside of his skin. I kissed him wherever my lips could find purchase, clinging to him for dear life. Here she was, the weak, clingy, needy Katniss that never failed to make her appearance, rending all of my independence to shreds, leaving only a mass of wounds and insecurities in its tattered wake. I was this creature too and she was not leaving my life anytime soon.

We sat like this for a long while, me holding on to him as he stroked my hair, the length of my back. He was wearing a t-shirt and long pajama pants which meant I had been asleep for a while, not having even noticed that he had come to bed. When I was sure the vision would not return to torment me, I pulled him down next to me and stretched out, putting my head on his shoulder, wrapping my arm around his waist.

"I'm sorry." He said sadly.

I put my head up to look at him. "Why are you sorry?"

He sighed heavily. "The timing was all wrong. I should have waited a little longer to propose to you. This has been such a busy period. It's just, you were so beautiful and open, it seemed like the perfect moment…" he paused, taking a deep, nervous breath. "I would understand if you wanted to think about it all and get engaged later on." He whispered.

I sat up, the last torpor of my dream evaporating. "Don't do that, Peeta! You told me once that I needed to stop taking responsibility for things I couldn't control. Well, back at you now. I will never regret saying yes to you, to the engagement, to marriage, to any of this." He stared into space morosely, his jaw tightening and I began to panic again. "Listen to me, you pig-headed man!" I said in a loud voice. His head snapped to look at me, never having heard me speak to him in that way. "I was a dead person walking when you came back. Now I have a home, I have you to love me. You take care of me like no one since my father ever did. You said it yourself – it's amazing the things we are building together. How could I regret having you as my husband?" I became emotional again. "I would have had the same fears whether you proposed now or in ten years. This is not about you at all, do you want to understand that?"

"Are you sure, Katniss. Because I would never push you. You have to do something like this because you really want to, not because you think you owe it to me." He said this very seriously, but I could see real fear in his eyes, that I might actually take him up this.

I had a violent urge to shake him hard, maybe give him a good slap on the side of the head. My breath came in bursts again but I wanted to get this out. "Peeta, I just want you all for me - I don't want to share you with an audience anymore. We should be allowed to live our lives on our terms. That's _all_ there is here. This is not some misplaced sense of responsibility." I emphasized, angrily.

He pulled me down to kiss me, a deep, searching kiss that, despite the nightmares and tension, left me panting. "Okay, I get it, I get it. So, you want me all to yourself?" he laughed at this, all traces of his former remorse having disappeared. "That might be a lot for someone as little as you."

"You know I can handle you!" I laughed at his silliness. "I don't play nicely with others, that's all. And I'll have you know that if you take back your offer to marry, you aren't getting the ring back. I'm not parting with it so you might as well get your money's worth and keep the engagement."

He laughed and shook his head. "Well, if it's like that, then you're right. Hate to waste a perfectly good ring."

"My thoughts exactly." I said as I lowered my head onto his chest again, threading my hand through one of his. I was still exhausted, my nightmare only serving to make feel more wiped out. I wanted to say more, to tell him that I liked the sound of my name coupled with his, that when people saw the name Mellark Family Bakery, people would know it included me also. To thank him for all these little gifts he gives me each day but as he ran his other hand through my hair, I drifted off to sleep instead.

**XXXXX**

The next few weeks were insanely busy. We barely spent time at home and I was forced to call Greasy Sae to come in and tend the house while we worked for fear we would drown under the chaos that was taking over our home. Effie proved to be indispensable, taking over the hiring process and vetting applicants I was too terrified to contact, demonstrating once again how precise and competent she could be. Organization was definitely her strength, her ability to read people clear when she took on not one but two assistants; Aster, a strong, lithe young man who hailed from the Seam and Iris, a sweet tempered woman of middle age whose husband once worked the mines but now ran deliveries from the Post Office at the train station. Peeta offered Effie a salaried position but she would hear none of it, claiming that she had no other way to pass her time and would be "absolutely dumbfounded" if he gave her even one note for her help.

"It would be unacceptable to take money for something I enjoy so much. However, there is that lovely berry loaf you gave me once – I think I would work day and night for that!" And so it was settled that her assistance would come at the cost of keeping her well stocked with her favorite bread.

When I called my mother to tell her of the engagement, Peeta insisted on formally asking for my hand, as she was my only remaining parent and it was common in District 12 that this request was posed to the father of the future bride. Even after living with me for these months, despite having asked me and being accepted, he was still nervous, his voice shaking as he requested the honor of marrying me.

"I love her, Mrs. Everdeen and I promise to take care of her for the rest of my life."

He inspired so much tenderness that I could not resist putting my arms around him and kissing him gently. When I took the phone, my mother fell apart, sobbing uncontrollably. "I know now that you will be well-cared for. He's loved you all of his life." I was overwhelmed by her reaction and had to wonder how much of her tears came from the prospect that I would be happy and how many were for her own brief but intense happiness with my father.

"Prim would have been overjoyed for you, Katniss. I know she would be proud of the life you are making with Peeta. My darling Prim! She was such a romantic, you know." Here, I could not still my own grief and the rest of the call was dedicated to the mourning of my sister, my engagement getting lost in nostalgia for her presence. She would have surely been a witness to the signing of the marriage license and the toasting. She would have helped me dress for the day, fixed my hair, chosen my nightgown for our wedding night. When I set the phone back in its place, a hollow, aching pit had opened up in my stomach and I had to go to bed right afterwards. That night, I dreamed of bloody wedding dresses and burning little girls, finding it virtually impossible to get out of bed the next day. After the day had passed with me staring at the tie of the window curtain, he could not endure it any longer and climbed into bed with me, shoes and all, to coax me back to the land of the living.

"Don't stay away like this. I need you, Katniss. Just please, come downstairs now," he begged sadly. I only rose because his panic-stricken face finally filled me with pity for someone other than myself

But this too passed and soon I became lost in all of the last-minute details of readying the bakery for opening while District 12 prepared for the Harvest Festival. We hadn't actually planned to open at the beginning of November but it was generally a good period for business as better-off families traditionally bought more baked goods in preparation for it. In the past, it was an evening for families and friends to be together and, if it could be arranged, to share a meal. Doors were decorated with dried corn and fall leaves and even the poorest families usually saved a bit of flour and oil to bake the heavy unleavened bread typical of District 12. Often, music and singing ensued if families were so inclined and there were no children who had been lost to the reaping. It was one of the few celebrations in which citizens were truly festive.

I hadn't given the festival a second thought as opening day neared so I was surprised when Effie invited us to her home for the evening. I found it especially odd that she would be recognizing this day of all days but it occurred to me that perhaps all the districts had some version of the festival. Because in the past, information exchange was strictly prohibited, I was only just now becoming aware of the many things we had in common, which again gave me a rare moment of pride for having been the Mockingjay. I was never be comfortable with the idea that perhaps the steep price in blood and agony might actually have been worth it but there was no denying that, at least for Panem and even at times, for Peeta and I, things were definitely better.

In fact, things were going so well, my natural instinct towards pessimism warned me that things were too good to be true. And as luck would have it, I was correct.

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**Thanks for all of your reviews!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25 – Paparazzi**

**Sorry for the delay. I got caught up thinking about Persuasion and delayed this chapter until I was done mapping that story out.**

**This is a shout-out to the incomparable TiffOdair for her beta-ing. She keeps me productive and doesn't let me go too long without reminding me that, hey, I have a chapter to get done so I should get to it!**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Spin by Court81981; It's an AU oneshot that is a satisfying 7000 plus words long. Romantic, hot and clever, Everlark stays true to character.**

**I will be posting Persuasion this week. Be sure to check out my tumblr blog at titania522 – tons of stuff including an essay about Katniss under my Ruminations page. I also added a Six Sentence Sunday page where I just posted my very first SSS. Happy Reading!**

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The building that housed the bakery was finally complete, including the upstairs apartment and while I did not lose time to decorating, I did make sure that the minimum requirements were present for short-term stays. Despite its relative size – there were three rooms in addition to the living room and kitchen - it was quaint; the smallish rooms nothing at all like our rooms at the Village. Two of the bedrooms were closed and empty – we had not had time to furnish those properly. There was a small, corner kitchen with a table that sat six. Where two chairs would have been, there was instead a bench attached to the wall with soft, gold plaid cushions in blue and yellow. The living room contained a large, soft sofa, the cushions so wide that two people could easily sleep cocooned in the giant back pillows. On a wooden stand sat a small television set and before it an unadorned wood coffee table and matching love seat to complete the set. The small guest bathroom with a sink and toilet lay off to the right, close to the stairs that led downstairs to the bakery. There was also a kind of closet where the doors opened to reveal a wooden desk with shelving installed in the walls. The bakery had a dedicated office downstairs but this was for our own use – to write letters, draw sketches or keep books on the shelves. I imagined Peeta hiding his increasing collection of recipe books and that of his own family's behind these double doors and poring over them as he often did, sometimes well into the night.

But it was our bedroom I loved the most. It was located toward the back of the building, the double windows facing the northeast mountain ranges. The town center itself sat in a valley between sloping hills that undulated into the foot of the mountains. They were gentle – not more than 300 feet in elevation with respect to the valley. Those hills provided sufficient distance to see the lower ridge towering over the hill-line, so majestic, it made me shiver. However, these were not the major, snow-capped peaks of the range - we were still too close to see those. It was not a practical location for a bedroom as normally it would be wickedly cold in winter but the ovens below would keep the apartment warm and the view was worth the extra covers. The large bed dominated the room, with its downy winter duvet and inviting feathered pillows. Close to the open door was the entrance to the master bathroom, which was much smaller than the one in our home – a classic basin tub with showerhead, a drain in the middle of the floor and a small sink. Behind a small partition was the toilet. It was not at all in the modern style of the Village's homes, nor was it particularly lavish but it fit with the more modest dimensions of the flat in general. The only real luxury was that there were two phones, one in the bakery and one upstairs

As the days grew shorter and the first snows began to fall, we found ourselves coming home later and later as opening day approached. We decided it was best to remain in the little flat for the last phase of preparations. Peeta initially suggested that only he stay there to not inconvenience me with packing but after one horrible sleepless night filled with epic nightmares and empty of all comfort, he was at our bedroom door in the Village before the sun had even risen to find me fully dressed and packing my things, the drawn, haggard look on both our faces an accusation against the irrationality of his plan. We never attempted to sleep apart again.

The week before the opening, we received a visit from Haymitch. He had not been to see the bakery outside of the odd visit during construction. He quietly examined the place, nodding to himself as if in approval before he turned towards us. His immobility drew my eyes instantly to him and I knew he was preparing himself to speak.

"You guys have been so busy, you haven't been answering any of your phone calls." He started.

Peeta looked at him intently, setting down the box he was carrying on the counter. "We can't answer the phone if we aren't there."

"Right. Of course." hedged Haymitch. I continued to sort utensils but my back muscles began to clench in tension.

"Who's looking for us?" I asked, tossing the question casually over my shoulder, putting the utensils in all the wrong places as I lost focus on my task.

"Dr. Aurelius, Johanna and Plutarch Heavensbee." He said.

There was a terrible clatter as I dropped the metal tongs I was holding in my hand. Bracing the counter, I refused to turn around. "Why would Plutarch want to speak to us?"

I heard Peeta take a deep breath behind me but he too waited for Haymitch's reply.

"Look, I've done the best I can to keep things away from the both of you. But with the new free press laws, there is only so much Plutarch can do now without making the government appear autocratic. It's the downside of a free society, I suppose." I heard the tell-tale twist of the flask's cover as he took a deep drag from it.

When Peeta spoke, there was menace in his voice that I had heard only once before – when he was hijacked in District 13. The memory of it brought on a wave of nausea so debilitating, I almost lost my legs. "What do they want from us?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They want to send a crew out for the opening next week. It's a Capitol Productions crew. He can't speak for the other media outlets and what their plans are. He does not have control over them."

Now I turned around. "Other media outlets? I thought there was only one official media company?" I said, my breath quickening.

"Since the laws have been passed, print and television media companies have been springing up like mushrooms. They are young and hungry companies and will want to make a reputation for themselves…" he stopped

"Shit." hissed Peeta.

Haymitch walked over to a table and took a chair, not even bothering to be discreet about his flask any longer. It's not like we hadn't seen him one hundred shades of plastered before. "He has been asking for an interview with the two of you for some time but I've put him off by telling him you guys are not emotionally stable enough to do one. However, now that you guys are opening a business together, I'm afraid I can't argue your mutual insanity as an excuse anymore. He is asking to interview you at the opening of the bakery - an exclusive interview."

"How does that help us with the other paparazzi that will show up?" demanded Peeta.

Haymitch rubbed his stubbled chin, absentmindedly picking a bit of fuzz that had been captured in his perpetual five-o'clock shadow. "By offering them an exclusive interview, it will send the other sharks home eventually. They've already started arriving, trying to talk to people here. But they will be here when the bakery opens. All of them."

So here it was – the noose I would never escape. My legs began to tremble as my eyes darted towards the window, watching the people walking by with a new sense of paranoia. Every other business in this district had opened with little fanfare, every other life was lived with the promise of anonymity and privacy. But not ours. Ours would be a perpetual carnival, forced open to the unwanted scrutiny of the world. I could no longer breathe regularly as I began panting noisily. In three swift strides, Peeta was at my side, forcing me to squat low and place my head between my legs. Haymitch was on his feet and next to me.

"Don't take it like that, Katniss. They'll be here for the opening, it's true. But District 12 people are a protective bunch. They won't get close enough to harass you. I've got the Mayor's word that he will cordon them off to keep them from interfering with your business."

"It's a bakery, for shit's sake. Why does it have to matter so much to anyone?" said Peeta with anger and frustration. We both knew why – the Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12 would always be a matter of curiosity for the citizens of Panem. As my breathing slowed, it was replaced by an ever-increasing terror.

Haymitch looked squarely at the both of us. "Listen, you aren't going to want to hear this now but you are always going to be of interest to the nation. There's no way around it. You can't continue to expect that your lives are going to be like the lives of normal people. Instead of fighting it, you need to figure out ways to live with this reality. You are national heroes, whether you like it or not. You're going to have to function knowing that sometimes, people will want to try to connect to you in any way that they can. This is going to include some journalist snapping pictures of you when you least expect it." Haymitch patted my knee at this. "You're still inspiring people and you will have to find a space in your lives for that, especially as you are doing such a good job of piecing yourselves back together again." He paused, rubbing his face. "You have friends." Haymitch looked at us in earnest. "We are all going to help you in every way we can. Don't forget that. I'm still your mentor. We'll get through this like we get through everything else."

Peeta nodded at this as Haymitch stood up, putting his hand dramatically on his lower back. "Man, I'm getting too old for all this shit. Let me check out the place. Got anything good to eat?"

Peeta turned to me. "Are you okay now?"

I nodded as I too stood up, still feeling a bit light-headed. "I'm going to have to be. I think there's something left over from lunch in the back." It occurred to me that while we were here during these few days, poor Haymitch had been left to his own devices and probably was surviving on booze and old bread. I felt compassion for him and made a mental note to speak to Peeta about making sure that we checked in on him more frequently.

When Haymitch left, I was emotionally drained. We trudged our way upstairs, barely speaking and went about showering and readying ourselves for bed. As soon as Peeta removed his prosthetic, I scooted over to him and assumed my usual position, placing my head on his shoulder. He turned towards me and wrapped his arm about my waist, pulling me tightly to him and burrowing his head in my hair.

"I feel like I'm back on the train again, during the Victory Tour." I whispered quietly.

"I know. I hate feeling that way. It's like the games never ended." replied Peeta into my hair.

"Do you think it will ever get better - feeling this way about everything?" I had captured his ear lobe between my forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently.

He sighed sadly. "Maybe not. Maybe we'll be on that train forever."

I shivered at this. It was not the answer I was looking for but it was the most honest one I would get.

We just clung to each other as he ran his hand up my back and I felt my need for him grow. I reached my hand up to run my fingers through his hair and when he pulled back, flicked my tongue over my lips to moisten them, angling my head in invitation. As always, he read my intentions and brought his head down to kiss me, at first gently, moving his lips over mine, letting his tongue run over my lips before pushing into my mouth. I gave way easily and kissed him with greater fervor, tasting his familiar flavor. We were both morose and a bit battered by the day and kissing him like this had the effect of wiping a messy, clotted palette clean.

Peeta pulled back suddenly and reached for his prosthetic, quickly attaching it before pushing me onto my back, this time his lips assaulting mine as his hands tugged at the material of my gown, pulling it up over my waist. My chest began to rise and fall with the sudden adrenaline. This would not be a playful exploration of our bodies or the wild abandon of simmering passion. This was pure animal need – like eating or sleeping. We needed to seek and find each other, to remind ourselves that we were not alone, to fill the emptiness of the disappointing reality that some things might not ever change for us. Every move he made screamed - _At least we have each other, right?_ It was everything but sex – need, comfort, affirmation.

I shoved his pants down, gripping his buttocks in my hands to grind him into me as he tore my gown over my head. He pulled furiously at my underwear, leaning back to tear them impatiently off of my body, the shreds ending up somewhere on the floor. I was momentarily glad that I wasn't particularly attached to them. Taking himself in hand, he positioned himself at my entrance, locking his eyes on mine and watching me with a look that smouldered as he plunged into me, causing me to yelp noisily. I wasn't quite ready for him so his penetration stung me but I didn't care. He leaned back on his haunches, grabbing my hips with his large hands and pulling me violently towards him, forcing me to arch my back as he impaled me over and over. He didn't take his eyes off of my face as my name fell from his pinched lips together with other incomprehensible noises while my small, inconsequential breasts bounced with the impact. Dropping my hips back down, he placed his arms under my thighs and drew my legs up. He slid his hands along the back of my thighs and pressed my legs to my shoulders so I was open to him as he drove into me. He bit his lip to control the grunts he issued each time, slamming into me. Soon I was joining him noisily and looking for purchase, reached my hands up to grab the wrought iron rods of the headboard as he continued plunging into me, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over his brow. I had no control and truthfully, I didn't want it. I gave it all over to Peeta. He reached between us to touch that place he knew would finish me off and blunt rush of sensation race towards my abdomen. "Come for me." he commanded and I did - I came in a raw, primitive way, barely able to form his name as I moaned into the air. My spasms drew him into me and his own thrusts became faster and more disjointed as he came, spilling himself into me. He crumbled over me, pinning me to the mattress.

We lay there for several minutes, catching our breaths. Peeta shifted to remove his leg and pulled me towards him, this time pressing himself against my back. It was our position, borne on those lonely, terrifying nights hurtling towards our almost imminent death. And yet, despite the black necessity of those arms and legs wrapped about one another, it was also the default setting, the base zero attitude that we took with each other every single night of our lives together. Because, as I was learning, there might not be the Games any longer but there are always going to be odds to overcome.

There was a different kind of silence in this apartment. The low vibration from the refrigerators in the bakery radiated upwards through the floor. A dim golden light illuminated the edges around the curtains, most likely from the street lamp on the corner below. I could still hear the crickets and forest noises of the night but they were farther away. The first night we slept here, my ears searched unsuccessfully for the familiar cacophony of the forest. When I could not find it, I burrowed down into the comforter and put my ear to Peeta's chest, falling asleep to that familiar sound instead. By the second night, I was already used to it and even found the low hum of the motors to be soothing.

"This bed is so soft." I mumbled, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

Peeta was farther gone than I was and simply grunted his assent.

I ran my finger absently over the cover, my eyes swimming in my head. I yawned when I spoke. "This is the first time we had sex in this bed. That makes today special."

Peeta stirred next to me and put his lips near my ear. "Are you getting sentimental in your old age?"

"Why not?" I challenged. "I'm focusing on the good things. This was a monumentally shitty day. The only thing I want to remember about it is that it's the first day you banged me in our apartment."

Peeta chuckled. "I'm gonna have to talk to Johanna about your potty mouth. Good thing you can't answer the phone this week."

"I'm just calling it like I see it." I said, barely holding on to the last shreds of my consciousness.

"We're going to do the interview." whispered Peeta quietly.

I sighed. I knew there was no way around it. "I know we are."

"We'll just smile and nod and give them nothing. Then maybe everyone will go home."

"Maybe. I suppose. Something else has to be happening in the world." I was on my way out. "But I swear, if Plutarch asks me to be in that idiotic music show again, I'll wreck all his cameras."

"That's my girl." He said. The last thing I remembered was his soft, tired laugh as I drifted off to sleep.

**XXXXX**

Haymitch had not exaggerated about the press. The next day, goofy-suited folks were all over, snapping pictures and taking notes. They stopped people on the street to converse with them but District 12 people were probably the most taciturn people in the country and not much given to strange confidences. When I stepped out onto the pavement, I was pounced upon like Buttercup entrapping a mouse. I remembered our dazed conversation of last night and simply smiled at them, giving them noncommittal answers to their idiotic questions before slipping off to my business. The first time it happened, I thought I would faint from panic but I managed to hold myself together long enough to complete my errands before slipping in through the back of the bakery and locking myself up in our apartment; there always seemed to be someone outside the bakery door. Afterwards, I sent Iris on errands on my behalf whenever possible so I wouldn't have to deal with the non-stop scrutiny.

Peeta spent those last few days training Aster and Iris on how to bake, stock the bread bins, run the register and do all of the myriad other things that were required to run the shop. I paid close attention, to these training sessions as I knew I would have to do some of these things eventually. I was good at baking simple cookies and cupcakes and thoroughly enjoyed swirling the sticky, sugary frosting designs on the top of them. Peeta was always so calm, explaining and modeling things with such patience, I had the wayward thought that he would make a phenomenal father. My hand instinctively went to my belly and a combination of terror and something else – perhaps _excitement_? – came over me. I shook my head to rid myself of the heretic thought. I would never have children and that was the end of that.

Effie came often – I did not realize how much time she actually spent in town – and often stayed to listen to Peeta's explanations. She studied the layout of the bakery and two days later appeared with a young man carrying a strange shiny red object fixed onto a metal pole. She instructed him to set it down near the counter before paying him. With an air of accomplishment, she gave us both an expectant look. Peeta and I glanced at each other questioningly as she opened the top and slipped a roll of paper inside. When she snapped the lid shut, a slip of paper popped out of a slit with metal jagged teeth I had not noticed before. She tore the strip off and handed it to Peeta. Looking past his arm, I saw there was a bold number 1 printed on it.

"I've been out and about and rumor has it, you should expect a lot of business on opening day. It has not escaped my notice that people here do not like to stand in straight lines." She wrinkled her nose as if reliving some unpleasant memory. I had the ridiculous vision of Effie on line somewhere being overrun by the older ladies of the district as she hopelessly waited her turn with impeccable decorum. I stifled the chuckle that threatened to escape. She pulled out a little sign and placed it on the counter, than placed what looked like a giant thumb-tack near the register. Both Peeta and I read the sign – "Please take a number."

"Why didn't I think of that!?" exclaimed Peeta. "It's a ticket dispenser. And this," he handled the giant thumbtack, "is where you put the tickets when you serve the customer so you can keep track of the numbers. Thanks, Effie! That's a great idea." He reached out and gave Effie a big hug which flustered her completely. I had to admit, it was a good idea.

"It's a bit old-fashioned but it will do." She smiled, immensely satisfied with herself.

A thought suddenly came to me and I directed my question at Effie. "How do you know we are going to have so much business? What's the gossip?"

Effie became slightly uncomfortable but quickly recovered her airiness. "I've made quite a few friends around town, you know. People like to talk and I will tell you – expect a big, big day!" She waved her hand excitedly, the fur from her winter coat shimmering from her buoyant energy. "The Mayor himself will be here, of course. You will have quite an opening day!" She flushed again, positively vibrating from the excitement.

_Hmmm, the Mayor_… I chuckled to myself. _Because _that _wasn't transparent at all_. But in deference to her lovely gift, I pinched my lips to keep from saying something utterly embarrassing. When she left, Peeta and I dissolved into knowing giggles. We had a pretty good idea who the source of Effie's "gossip" was and it kept us in stitches well into the evening.

Haymitch stopped by again with the details for the interview – it would be after closing and take place right in the bakery. The crews would arrive that morning but would not set up until afterwards. The thought of it made me a little sick and even Peeta seemed to pale at the news but simply nodded. We had already accepted this inevitability and would get through it as well.

The night before the grand opening of Mellark's Family Bakery, Peeta and I were restless. We had been in the building most of the afternoon, preparing everything for the morning – which would begin very early for us. Effie promised us she would meet us at the back of the bakery one hour before opening to help out which I told her was insane, she didn't need to be up that early. "Aster and Iris will be there!" but she insisted. "You need customer service support, dear. We all know that." She patted my hand when she said this and I would have been offended except that it was true. Maybe I'd be allowed to clean the back and frost cupcakes instead of serving at the register.

We were too nervous for sleep and decided to take a hot bath in the giant bath tub. Peeta brought two glasses of wine while I poured lavender oil into the water, hoping that would take the edge off of our nerves. Reclining against his broad chest, we let the aroma and heat swirl around us. The soothing heat together with the rich red wine brought on the desired effect. I could feel my muscles relaxing, Peeta's hand completing the effect as he ran them along my arms. His legs were on either side of me and I thought to myself that this was a small piece of absolute perfection.

"There's not much more we can do, right?" I asked as I took another sip of the wine.

"Not really. Short of opening shop now, I can't think of anything else." He said

"I love the paintings you put up." True to his word, Peeta had painted two stills of the meadow so exquisite, you could almost feel the breeze passing through the dandelions.

"It was your idea. A field of dandelions." He whispered into my neck. "You're my muse, you know."

I became serious all of a sudden. "I have a story I want to tell you."

I could feel his curiosity was piqued. "Okay. Tell me."

I took a deep breath. "Do you remember the day you tossed me the bread? That day in the rain?"

"Okay, because I would ever forget that day." He chuckled.

I shook my head. "I wanted to thank you the very next day at school. I had a whole thing ready to say but when I finally did see you and I saw that bruise on your cheek, I don't know. I lost my nerve." I took one of his large hands and began to trace the veins on the back of it. "I glanced just past you and saw a dandelion – a totally random dandelion growing all by itself in the middle of the playground. It had no business being there but there it was. I picked it and headed right back home to fetch Prim. We went out to the meadow with a metal pail and began to collect every single dandelion we could find. Did you know that you can eat dandelions?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, you can. You can eat every part of the plant. We had eaten some of your bread the night before and finished off the rest with the flowers for dinner. That's when I decided everything was going to be okay. I would hunt and gather and make sure we didn't starve." I lapsed into silence for a moment. Peeta squeezed me and waited patiently for me to continue. "I have always associated you with that flower. It means hope to me. That life will go on, no matter what our losses. That things will be good again. I didn't get the whole message then. But I get it now." I pulled both of his arms around me. "That sunset orange is all yours, Peeta but the yellow - it belongs to me." My voice shook at this but I pushed on. "Thank you for that bread, for letting me do all this with you; for our home, the bakery, whatever else we come up with." I smiled as I said this.

Peeta turned my head towards him and gave me one of his deep, disarming kisses. "I wish I could propose to you all over again."

I smiled at this. "It wouldn't be much fun. The answer would still be the same."

He turned me around to straddle him. I snaked my arms around his neck and we kissed again, that hunger that belonged only to us flaring up to consume us. I could never tire of his mouth, the way his lips moved against mine. We didn't get out until the water had lost all of its heat, our movements such that by the time we were done with each other, most of the water ended up swirling down the drain on the floor. Exhausted and sated at every level, we fell into a deep sleep.

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**I have the best reviewers in the world and I appreciate all of you. That bakery will finally open in the next chapter. Let me know what you think!**


	26. Chapter 26

**First off, I want to apologize for the long delay in posting. I've returned to work and my time for writing has dramatically decreased. I meant to have this chapter posted soon after Chapter 2 of Persuasion but I ended up writing several more chapters of that Fic, leaving my firstborn forlorn and neglected. I'll put my author's note at the end. So without further ado…**

**Chapter 26 Grand Opening (Peeta's POV)**

_It was as if I had never been reaped. The air was thick with the tart smell of yeast mixed with the voluptuousness of vanilla and sugar. It was still dark when I came down the stairs so I walked carefully, stepping on the spots that I knew would keep the steps from creaking. My father was already at work so I went directly to the bread racks to help him but he stopped me. "No, Peeta, you have to eat first." _

_I groggily walked to the bench and sat down as he brought a tray over. On it was a bowl with two egg yolks, a cup of sugar, milk, a tiny cube of dark chocolate and a slim vanilla stick. I could feel a giddiness overcome me – Eggs were as precious as gold in a bakery and we could rarely afford to eat any ourselves. I couldn't believe what he was going to make for me. "Dad?"_

_He chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling as he reached out to muss my hair. "You've been so caught up with the new bakery you forgot your birthday." He took the bowl with the egg yolks and began to add the sugar, whisking the mixture together with a fork. I watched as the eggs, appearing clumped and almost too dry to mix properly began to thicken and grow, the color lightening until it was no longer lumpy and granular but thick and smooth. "But parents never forget their children's birthdays." He smiled his indulgent smile as he splashed the concoction with two tablespoons of warm milk and a tiny bit of shaved vanilla, continuing to whip until the aroma overtook my nose and made my mouth water. Carefully removing the fork, he grated a bit of the chocolate on top and handed it to me. _

_Taking a spoon, I carefully pierced the thick confection and scooped some of it out, bringing it to my lips. I felt before tasting the incredible smoothness of the yolks, the typical metallic flavor overwhelmed by the sugar and spices. There was the occasional granule of sugar, which rubbed against my tongue and dissolved into the vanilla. This was such a rare secret treat, we often split it four ways (mom would never have forgiven us for wasting perfectly good egg in this way). Self-conscious of my greediness, I scooped another bit and put it up to my dad's lips. He shook his head but I insisted until he relented, a look of pure bliss overtaking his features. We ate like this for a few minutes until I put down the spoon and scraped the sides of the cup clean with my finger, my father chuckling all the while at my childish manners._

_When I set the cup down, he took my face in both of his large, calloused hands. "I'm proud of you, son." It was then that I perceived the strangeness of it all; the world that I inhabited that no longer contained him. I leaned into him then and gripped him with all of my strength while he crushed me against his broad chest. A terrible sadness fell over me like a thick black tarp and I knew that my vision would have to end. I gripped his back and held on as tightly as I could, the thick taste of the egg cream still on my tongue. _

_"__I miss you dad." I whispered into his chest._

_He pulled back and looked at me with eyes that seemed to absorb all the light from every corner of the world and reflect it back to me. "I know you do. But we are always here." My brothers, Bannick and Rye appeared beside me, solid and incorporeal at the same time, hands gripping my shoulders, making a mess out of my curls. I felt a light touch on my cheek and turned to see mom's hand floating over me, a rare look of contentment ghosting over her stern features. I was annihilated now, tears flowing everywhere as I was allowed to hold each of them in turn. Just as suddenly as they came, they began to fade and I reached for them, sweeping the air but I captured only fog and mist. I so wanted to hold on for just a bit longer, to not feel the gaping, pulsing wound that always lived in the center of my chest. Dad gripped me with his last fading physicality and smiled that smile that he reserved only for me. "Don't worry, Peeta. We're always going to be with you."_

My eyes flew open and it took me several long moments to place myself. I looked up at the dim outline of the rafters on the ceiling in confusion, my eyes sweeping the dark room while my mind still floated in its uncertainty. I reached out to the spot on the bed next to me, feeling her naked, soft hip and reality rushed back to me. _I'm in the little flat above the bakery lying next to my woman._ I turned to pull Katniss towards me, her low moan the only acknowledgement I would get before she slipped back into her slumber. My mouth still tasted like vanilla and sugar; I could smell my father's warmth, could still feel their fingers in my hair. I tried to hold onto those feelings to keep the grief from crashing through and overtaking everything. I suddenly understood what Katniss was trying to explain to me when she had described Finnick's dream – the feeling that they were there, talking to us and for an insane moment, I never wanted to wake again. I fixed their faces in my mind - the cup of cream, mom's hand over my cheek, Rye and Bannick clasping my shoulder - and knew I needed to at least sketch them before time distorted the memory of them.

It was a chilly night and Katniss and I would have done well to put on pajamas but after our exertions in the tub, we were exhausted - too exhausted to do anything more than crawl into bed. Instead of dressing, I had tossed another comforter over us and we'd burrowed deeply underneath them, keeping each other warm. Now, I no longer wanted to sleep so I slipped quietly out of bed. The chill attacked my skin, making me shiver so badly, I had to dress quickly in hopes of warming up. Katniss was curled up on her side, sleeping quietly, the only sound she made was a low, soft snore and I couldn't bring myself to wake her. I deactivated the alarm on the clock, confirming that it was about three in the morning, and gently adjusted her blankets before leaving quietly and making my way to the spare room.

I began with my father and sketched for the next hour as page after page poured out of me. Katniss' need to capture her dream of Finnick became my own and it wasn't until it was close to 4 that I finally put my pencil down, satisfied that I had defied my treacherous mind by solidifying my dream on paper. As I surveyed my work, a resolve began to form and I knew dad was right; I would see them again – over and over if I wanted to. Because as soon as I returned to the Victor's Village, I knew what my next series of paintings would be.

**XXXXX**

Aster was already hard at work when I entered the kitchen. He had the earliest shift which began at three am. He started the ovens, set out the dough, and began the process of setting up the bread to be baked. I waved at him and he smiled. He was a serious young man, about my age but he always called me "Sir", which I absolutely hated – in another life, we would have been finishing up school together. We'd have played ball or wrestled against each other or just plain hung out, though in reality, Merchant kids rarely mixed with Seam kids. However, in my alternate universe, there was no difference and so we certainly could have even been friends. I made a mental note to remind him not to call me that anymore.

The baskets were already lined up to be filled so I got to work taking out the trays for the display and arranging the cookies, muffins and pies on them. I took the heavy baking mitts and pulled the breads out of the oven, Aster worked quietly on the other side as we set them on racks to cool. I had a sudden flashback of my father standing next to me, helping me hold the bread trays in place, the smell of baked bread inextricably linked to him. Whenever his blue eyes, the ones he gave me, looked at me, he never failed to have a smile reserved for me. Even if they were hidden in the creases of his eyes, it was there as if he were seeing me for the first time, every time. There was that also for my brothers, I'm sure of it, because his affection was without limit but there were times I think he preferred to work closely with me over anyone else. This was fine with me because I in turn loved working with my father. If I made a mistake, he would say "It's fine, Peeta. That wasn't a mistake, just an approximation of success," and patiently wait for me to try again.

This memory would have wiped me out but after my dream, I welcomed every single reminder of them, reveling in the feeling that my family still surrounded me. I was a bundle of nerves after speaking with Haymitch yesterday but now I was filled with a serenity that had been so rare since I'd been reaped for the Games. The vast majority of those moments had been linked to Katniss but now I had something else to treasure and I silently thanked my father for this small gift also.

A light rapping at the back door brought me back to the present and I opened it to find Effie shivering in the cold. She would not be dissuaded from helping and was adamant about being at the bakery before opening and yet I was still surprised to see her as she entered, removing her thick, fur lined winter coat and placing it carefully on the coat hanger in the office.

"Winters are never this cold in the Capitol!" she exclaimed, standing before me with an exaggerated air of attention. "What are my marching orders, Sir?"

I shook my head. I really hated being called that.

"How about setting up the dining area? The chairs need to be put down and the tables wiped again."

She nodded, pulling an apron and towel from the linen closet and setting to work.

I turned my attention to sorting rolls while Aster placed the cooked loaves on the shelves behind the counter. As I worked, I suddenly felt small arms wrap around my waist from behind, nearly making me jump out of my skin. Not needing to turn around to see who it was, I simply chuckled and said. "One day, you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Why? Who else sneaks up on you besides me?" murmured Katniss as she pressed her nose into my back, breathing in deeply. "Why didn't you wake me?"

I shrugged. "You were sleeping so well – no nightmares or anything. I didn't want to wake you."

"That's not fair to you. I should be here to help you." she said this as she took her place next to me, sorting the remaining things before taking them to the front. When she returned, I looked at her face, seeing the signs of worry around her eyes.

"Katniss, we've got this under control. Don't worry. Even Effie is in on it. Except that I don't think she is really used to these hours." I laughed again, cocking my head towards her as she moved slowly around the café area. Even though she was impeccably dressed, she moved tiredly, smiling when she saw us but not saying very much. Poor Effie. Katniss set the basket down and walked over to her. Without warning, she reached out and gave Effie a hug. "Thank you," she said. Effie's face was overtaken by a pleasant shock and she beamed in response to her attention. Katniss was not particularly demonstrative with her affection which made her spontaneity that much more impressive.

When she came back, I pulled her towards me and kissed her. It was then that I felt her slight trembling and became concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really." she explained in a way that explained nothing at all.

"It's okay. Tell me." I pressed.

She sighed. "I'm nervous, is all. I only know how to do one thing well, and that's hunt. I don't know the first thing about serving people or baking or running a business. I'm not particularly friendly either. You know how I am." She finished sheepishly.

Her vulnerability disarmed me and I put my hand up to her cheek. "You don't have anything to worry about. The three of us can take the front and you can just clean the back and set the timer on the ovens. It'll be fine, I promise."

She nodded at this, then cast her eyes on the wall clock. "Are we ready then?"

"As ready as we'll ever be."

I turned the lock on the door, the chime tinkling lightly as I flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open." Katniss raised the shades, inviting the hushed light of early dawn to flood the bakery floor. My artist's eye was riveted by beams of light from the low hanging sun, the fierce bright orange bathing her and illuminating the outline of her small figure. She was on fire again and I was so captivated that I didn't see the people outside the window until I heard her small intake of breath.

"Peeta!" she whispered. "So many people…"

I tore myself away from staring at her and looked out the window to see people lined up along the sidewalk. It was only 7 in the morning but I couldn't believe the bodies thronging the street. I opened the door slowly and stepped into the threshold. The original population of District 12 had been decimated by the firebombing and many had opted to stay in District 13 or move to other, more hospitable districts. Despite the reconstruction of the town's center and the medical quarter, many parts of District 12 were still a pile of burnt out rubble and people struggled to reconstruct their lives in the middle of the ashes of death and destruction. Volunteers from other districts still made up a good percentage of the present population.

And yet, it seemed to me that everyone who lived in District 12 was standing outside our bakery this morning.

As soon as the crowds caught sight of me, an eruption of cheers and clapping drowned every other sound in my ears. There were the dreaded paparazzi, it was true, snapping away with their invasive bulbs and ponderous cameras but the shouts of victory were those of people I knew, faces that I recognized despite the changes tragedy and loss had writ across them. Katniss had the look of a startled doe, ready to take flight but I needed her next to me. This did not belong only to me so I motioned her to come. She shook her head but I insisted. "Please, Katniss, they're not just here for me."

Effie, as taken aback as she was, whispered something to Katniss and nudged her gently to join me. Taking her hand, I pulled her to me in the doorway. If the crowds were loud before, they were thunderous now. I smiled and waved at them, the way I had done to the crowds in the Capitol when our train arrived on the platform for the first Hunger Games. But this time, the crowds were not thirsting for our blood. These were my people, _our people_ and I felt an explosion of pride and gratitude for being able to stand that way before them. I never felt like a real Victor until that moment in the doorway of our bakery and I greeted each and every one of them with a heart full of awe. Katniss clung to my arm, not sure how to react but one look in her smoky grey eyes told me that she, too, was moved by the acceptance and solidarity, that we had a place after all here. As a reward, she gave them her rare, beautiful smile, causing another round of deafening cheers and applause.

To our right emerged Mayor Greenfield with Wesley in tow. He smiled and shook my hand. "We knew you wouldn't want a lot of fanfare but there was no way to keep everyone home." He laughed, his blue eyes bright with feeling. "You don't know what this means to this District, to see the both of you thriving after so much loss." He indicated the crowd as he said this and another wave of cheers and shouts drowned out the rest of his words.

Wesley stood sleepily by his father but when I shook his hand, he could not contain himself. "I'm here for my bear claw, Sir!"

"Peeta, please! I'll eat all of the bear claws if you call me Sir again."

Wesley smiled and nodded his head. "Okay, Peeta. I'm here for my bear claw!" he repeated impishly. I mussed his hair, laughing at him. Even Katniss smiled at his silliness and it filled me with intense pride that she was not shying away from the moment.

We stepped inside, giving one last wave to the crowd and led the Greenfield and Wesley into the bakery. Effie was already at the counter and the smile she gave the Mayor would have lit up the bakery if the sun had not already drenched the shop with its merry light. I went behind the counter and placed a bear claw and a large sugar cookie inside a paper bag while Effie indicated towards the ticket dispenser. Greenfield smiled and pulled out a ticket, all the while talking to Effie.

"So how is my favorite lady doing this morning?" he asked as he handed her the ticket playfully.

Effie cocked her head at the mayor and with a flip of her blond hair, responded "I don't know. I'll be sure to ask her when I see her." Her light laughter filled the shop as people began to stream in. "I see you are number one. That makes you very special, indeed."

"If you think I'm special, I can go home and call this day a success." I looked over at Katniss, who was actually serving a customer and saw her raise an eyebrow. If they kept this up much longer, we wouldn't be able to keep our faces straight.

The Mayor lingered while Wesley sat at a table and ate his bear claw with a cup of tea that Effie managed to whip up and soon the bakery was packed with customers. We worked hard to keep up with the traffic as many people stopped to chat with Katniss, me and each other. There had never been this kind of bustle in my father's bakery, perhaps because being oppressed meant there were fewer reasons to be happy.

At first, Katniss didn't know what to do with the attention but we were so busy, there was no chance for her to slip away. Soon she warmed up to the throngs of people, especially as the older folks in the district began to hand her small gifts – a cluster of dried corn ears wrapped with straw for the Harvest Festival, evergreen ornaments decorated with hard, waxy berries. One young man brought her a letter he wrote to her while recovering from his wounds after the battle of the Nut and the googly way he looked at her made me want to launch one of the berry loaves at his head.

Children brought hand-made cards of congratulations and these were the gifts that threatened to make my heart burst in my chest. They were clumsily drawn with crayon or simple grey pencil and I made a big show of tacking them up on the corkboard behind the counter. I also had a batch of sugar cookies under the counter and made sure that each one of them got a free one. My father could never afford to give much of anything to anyone though he was known to slip an occasional extra roll for the needier customers. I was determined to make up for it.

Thom and Glen stopped off during one of their deliveries and bought several sour dough rolls and two cups of hot chocolate. With very little ceremony, they dunked the bread in the thick, creamy liquid and had them as a snack. Thom could not stand it and exclaimed "It's about time we had some decent bread around here! Haven't had good bread since your pa's bakery. Good man, that one. Good man." He shook his head sadly and, remembering himself, wished us a good day and shuffled off to work.

Greasy Sae came and brought us a small basket of chestnuts from a wild tree she'd found growing in the woods near the Seam and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on both Katniss' and my cheeks as she ordered a loaf and three muffins. She gave us a quick update on our house in Victor's Village and Katniss took the opportunity to ask her to look after Haymitch until we were back in our house in a week. Despite the acerbic personality of our mentor, she worried about him not eating while we were away and Greasy Sae's commitment put her at ease.

As if he knew we would be speaking about him, Haymitch strolled in, remarkable sober for the time of day. As if he owned the place, he walked right behind the counter and grabbed a blueberry tart, pausing just long enough to toss a grunt that I think meant "good morning" in Haymitch-speak before plunking himself down on a stool to devour his treat. Katniss slipped quietly to the back and brought out a square of soft goat cheese and several slices of bread, setting it down next to Haymitch wordlessly before returning to the kitchen. If there was one thing you could say about Katniss, it was that when she got something in her head, wild horses couldn't get it out again. She was convinced Haymitch was starving without us and she would not have peace until she saw that it was otherwise.

When Iris came to change shifts with Aster, he insisted on staying on to help bake more bread, for which I was secretly relieved because we were beginning to run out of things to sell. Effie was brilliant at managing the crowds, reminding everyone that they had to take a number and wait their turn. At one point, she turned to me in frustration and exclaimed "But do they understand what a line means? Goodness!"

The most disturbing part of the day was the press – countless journalists wandering in, asking to buy something and then bombarding us with questions. Here I saw Katniss falter under their scrutiny, at which time I told them tersely that there were people waiting to be served and this was not a good moment for interviews. Though there was an area set up for them, they entered the bakery as customers, not all of them dressed in garish Capitol clothing which sometimes made it difficult to sort them from other customers. The worst one was a woman named Gaia something-or-the-other from Empire Media who began as a perfectly normal customer and ended up shoving her camera right into our faces, momentarily blinding Katniss with her flash. It was all I could do to not pick her up bodily and toss her out of the shop. Katniss was shaken by the assault and went upstairs to calm down. It reminded me of our interview this evening, which I did not even want to think about.

By early afternoon, the crowds were dying down. After cleaning the front of the shop, Effie excused herself to go home. I thanked her with one of her preferred loaves which made her clap like a little girl. "We're going to enjoy this so very much!" she said, reddening slightly before bidding everyone goodbye. I wondered briefly who she would be sharing her bread with, chuckling to myself at the convoluted way life had of pushing a person down roads over which they had never thought they would walk. I never in a million years would have thought of Effie as capable of being happy in a half-burnt outlying husk of a District like 12 and now, it was almost as if she had always been here.

I left Iris on her own and went upstairs to check on Katniss. I was sure I'd find her laying down so I was pleased to see her moving about our small kitchen. There was no way she couldn't have heard me clomping up the steps and yet she was thoroughly engaged at the stove. The smell of fried sausages and onions was inviting, my mouth watering. It was then that I realized just how hungry I was.

"Hey." I said as I walked to the sink to wash my hands.

"Hey." She responded, smiling up at me.

"You okay?" I couldn't help but worry after insane-camera-lady rammed her camera into our faces.

"Yeah, I guess I expected it." She continued to set the table. "Can you spare a minute to eat? Then we can both go back downstairs." She said as she worked.

I smiled at her. Her braid was an absolute mess and she seemed flushed. "I think I made you work today." I chuckled as I grabbed her hand to keep her from getting away from me.

"I know. Wow. I think we are going to have to hire more help if things are going to be that busy." She smiled, letting me pull her onto my lap.

"It won't always be that bad." I said between bites of sausages. "It was the first day and people are always curious at the beginning. The crowds will calm down soon enough. But you're right; we are going to need a couple more hands if we don't want to live at the bakery."

Katniss nodded at this, breaking off a piece of bread and feeding it to me. "I love this little apartment but I do miss our house." She said quietly. I understood her exactly. I missed my studio, our winter garden, the pitch black darkness of night at the edge of the forest. I had lived in the town center all of my life but there was something intimate about passing those stone pillars and suddenly being alone with Katniss, separated from the bustle of the rest of the world. I didn't realize how essential our home had become to me until I found myself here.

We finished the rest of our meal in silence. Katniss made to move from her spot on my lap but I held her in place. I would never tire of holding her and my heart suddenly swelled with happiness at how far we'd come in such a little bit of time. There was no good reason for us to be where we were. What Finnick said was true – we weren't victors by chance – well, except for me but here he was wrong. There was something in both of us that made thriving inevitable.

When I had done eating, I turned Katniss around and rebraided her hair. "It looks like a rat's nest." I teased her. I'd already been gone too long, having left Iris by herself downstairs. "Would you mind…?" I said as I kissed her cheek.

"Don't worry. I'll clean up and be down in a bit." She said, understanding right away. She gathered the dishes from the table and moved to the sink. As I went to descend the stairs, I couldn't resist. I walked briskly back to her.

"Katniss?"

"Hmmm?" she said, looking up at me.

I gave her the deepest, most intense kiss I could muster. "I love you."

She was breathless and panting, her small hands gripping my shirt to steady herself, and I mentally gave myself a high-five.

"I love you, too." She whispered huskily. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"I'll be waiting." I said as I tore myself away from her and went to save Iris from the masses.

**XXXXX**

**Thank you so much for your patience! The egg cream that Peeta describes is actually called Zabaione, which is an Italian treat made of egg yolks, sugar and usually amaretto or espresso unless it is being served to children. In this case, milk with either shredded chocolate or malt powder is used as a substitute. There are variations of this recipe in various cultures.**

**I must thank SolasVioletta again for her brilliant beta-ing and for clearing up some of the confusion in the chapter. She made sure I didn't leave Haymitch out. I have to also thank TiffOdair for basically telling me that I was slacking and needed to update already. Kids!**

**HG Fanfic Rec: The Light in Your Eyes by Mals86: Tells the story of Peeta and Katniss growing together but it is really one of the best I've read in terms of capturing the way Peeta's and Katniss' minds are really altered by their traumas. Beautiful characterization, the right amount of angst – I can't say enough about it. **

**I have to also mention a story I found about the rewriting of Catching Fire and Mockingjay in Peeta's point of view by skyofsolarstardust. If you go to her blog on tumblr, you will be in for an amazing treat.** **Effie and Portia are extraordinarily written and Peeta is, well, just brilliant.**

**Looking forward to hearing from you!**


	27. Chapter 27

**I want to give an epic thank you to SolasVioletta, my incredible beta, for her undying support and brilliant editing. She's updating Paint It Black and Tainted Love soon so if you haven't read her fics yet, your truly missing out.**

**I participated in Prompts in Panem and submitted three entries, two of which are posted on ffnet (As Much As You Can Take and I Envy All That Touches You) and one that is a future chapter of Good Again. So, for my HG Fanfic Rec, head over to promptsinpanem on tumblr and check out round 4's entries for The Seven Deadly Sins. There are some truly great stories to keep you busy for a nice long while.**

**In addition, it's that time of the year for the Everlark Smut Awards. Good Again, Persuasion and the one shot As Much As You Can Take have been nominated in various categories. Even if you don't vote for me, there are some muy caliente offerings that you will be sorry you haven't read.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: amenityeverlark's "Red Heat." It is a unique take on the Victory Tour after the first Games. It promises to be a great read!**

**Happy Reading!**

**Chapter 27 – There are ghosts here (Peeta's POV)**

At four o'clock, I l finally locked the door of the bakery. We were completely sold out of bread at that point - Aster and I had had to bake twice before turning over the sign to say "Closed." According to Haymitch, the prep team would arrive at 6 to ready us for the interview that evening so I worked quickly to make the place presentable, with no help at all from him of course.

"There's enough work for you too, you know." I groused as he slouched in one of the café chairs, taking swigs of his drink.

"Nah, you're doing such a _bang up_ job; don't want to interfere." Haymitch retorted. "I'm pretty beat anyway."

I straightened up and looked at him incredulously. "From what? From walking down the hill? _Down hill?_ You could have rolled here from your house!"

Haymitch chuckled at this, taking a drought of his flask. "That would be undignified of me, now, wouldn't it?"

I just shook my head, not wanting to point out that being piss-drunk each day of your adult life was slightly more undignified.

"Listen," he said, his mood changing. "Like we talked about, show them around the bakery, and let them see what you've done to the place. Then they'll interview you in the shop. They don't need to come upstairs for any reason. You got that? I already vetted the question list. It'll take an hour, tops."

I just nodded my head as I sobered at this. "Whatever it takes, as long as they go away when they're finished." I said, with some vehemence.

"Yeah," sighed Haymitch. "I really hate the way I look on camera." He chuckled darkly to himself. I shook my head at this as I recalled the figure he cut when he fell off the stage during our Reaping. I had to wonder how similar this was to him mentoring us during the Games and what kinds of memories this whole endeavor was dredging up for him.

"Let's go upstairs. I've got to get ready." I said, my cheerful mood completely deflating at the prospect of being in front of Capitol cameras again. Haymitch said nothing as I limped towards the kitchen, stopping only to double-check the ovens. My father made me rightly paranoid about checking them and made everyone on shift double and triple check them before retreating to our little flat above the bakery and even then, he went over them again himself before going to bed. His great-grandfather had lived to see a bakery fire and the story had been passed down as a cautionary tale to all of us of the dangers of underestimating the fires that brought us our livelihood. The idea of seeing everything Katniss and I had built together go up in flames filled me with a terror as old as those tales.

When we reached the kitchen, I smelled the stew Katniss had managed to throw together so Haymitch and I made quick work of our meals, saying very little. I was eager to check in on her. She'd done so well in the shop today. Dealing with people was not her forte and she was out in front doing just that. Maybe I was just being my usual besotted self but there were moments I couldn't believe my incredibly good fortune - I began and ended each day with her next to me. I _would _get through this interview and a thousand like it because at the end of the day, that's the reality I get to come back to.

The thought made me impatient to seek her out, making me abruptly stand and leave the table with its dirty dishes still in place. It would be too much to think that Haymitch might take care of them but I didn't care. I found her in the bedroom, dressing in a long, warm sweater and leggings – a look that suited her slight figure so well. The maroon sweater she'd chosen was one that I'd ordered from the Capitol and it thrilled me to see her dark, olive skin contrasted against the deep tone, bringing out the flush of her winter-swept cheeks. Her thick black hair was freshly braided so there were no loose strands around her face. When she saw me, she smiled and silently held a hand out to me, beckoning me. I limped my way towards her – my leg was really acting up again after a day of standing. I grasped her hand, feeling the round, cool pearl of her engagement ring sitting regally on her delicate finger. She squeezed my hand tightly, her eyes scanning me in that quick way she had before her face contorted into her signature frown, dark eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Your leg is bothering you?" She stated starkly.

"Not much." I lied

"Right. I'll run a bath." She stood as she said this.

I shook my head. "We don't have time, Katniss. They'll be here soon."

"Well, they can wait. I'm running a bath."

I resigned myself and simply followed her into the bathroom as she turned on the water. Stripping my clothes off, I began to feel the effects of waking up at three in the morning, a slow drowsiness tugging at me as soon as the humidity of the small bathroom overtook me. With a groan, I lowered myself into the warm water, removing the prosthetic and handing it to Katniss as I let the waters leach the tension from my muscles. She took my clothes with her and returned several minutes later with a small pitcher.

"What's that for?" I asked between yawns.

"I'm washing your hair." She said, placing the stool close to my head near the tub.

I smiled to myself. "Are you trying to spoil me?"

"Maybe." She sat down, reaching out to ruffle my hair before taking the small pitcher and pouring water over my head. "It relaxes me." She lapsed into a distracted silence, working quietly as she lathered me. I knew where her mind was and it was inevitable that she would be anxious. We hadn't spoken of it the whole day, mostly because we had been too busy at the bakery but also because neither of us wanted to think about it. As I finished my bath, I noticed her lingering, pulling a towel over and drying me off as if I were a child. She scooped out a generous amount of the cream that I used on my amputation and massaged it into my sore skin which reduced the throbbing immediately. Normally, this would rank as an incredibly erotic experience for me but it was hard to enjoy it when we were both so nervous about our interview.

She attached the prosthetic quietly and got the clothes she'd chosen for me. I just watched her move with quiet nervousness about the room, even muttering to herself on occasion. She was always sweet and attentive in that unconscious way she had but when she tried to dress me, I stopped her and pulled her down to sit with me on the bed. Under her forced composure, she quivered like one of her arrows stuck in a target. I ran my hand down the length of her ebony braid and brought her face up to look at me.

"You want to talk about it?"

She took a deep breath, appearing to compose her thoughts. She shook her head, demurring as she fidgeted with the bedspread. Then, abruptly, she spoke.

"I…it all just comes back, you know? District 13, the Capitol…" she let out a shuddering breath, "…Prim." She looked around her as if the answer would come from the walls of our room. "The cameras, the crowds." She looked down at her hands. "The lies. So many lies just to stay alive. They want us to lie again and it makes me feel sick."

I was taken aback by this. "How do you mean?" I asked, reaching to take her hand in mine.

"They want this interview to show that we're okay. That we've moved on. But we're not okay. _I'm _not okay. And I don't want to lie about it." She slumped a bit at this.

I felt like an icy rock has been pitched into my stomach as the old fear that I was so accustomed to having with Katniss reared its ugly head. "Aren't you okay with me?" I asked knowing I sounded petulant, even whiny but that wounded part of me that watched her for months while she virtually ignored me after the first Games would probably never go away.

Her head snapped up at this, and she suddenly put her hands on both sides of my face. "Oh, how can I not be! Don't even question it." She peppered my face with kisses, which instantly had the effect of calming some of my anxiety. "No, this isn't about us, Peeta. Not in that way." She dropped her hands and took one of mine instead. "It's about the fact that it will be a long time before we are the way they want us to be. I have my nightmares. You have your flashbacks. There are some things we don't handle well. District 12 isn't this great success story either – parts are still under ash and rubble. So many dead people…" she trailed off.

I sighed at her disjointed thinking. I could see her struggling with this interview the way she had the dozens of interviews we'd given before for the Capitol.

"I guess we have to pretend one more time. We've done it before under far worse circumstances. We can get through this too."

Katniss opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a rapping at the door. She literally jumped at the sound and without hesitation answered the door.

"The team is downstairs." grunted Haymitch, eyeing both of us cautiously just as he had done before countless other interviews.

Katniss looked at me, terror making her eyes grow wide before she visibly steeled herself and turned back to him. "We're ready."

**XXXXX**

The prep team that was brought in was composed of two stylists we'd never seen before. One was a tall blond woman named Agrippa who was dressed in what seemed to be a plain beige tunic and slacks but, upon closer inspection, was actually a blend woven with iridescent thread. When she moved, she seemed to phase in and out of the light and I had to admit, it was a beautiful material. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. Her partner was a short, burly man named Leonidas ("Just call me Leo for short"). He wore a thick suit of light brown color, a shade that reminded me of cinnamon sticks. They worked briskly, applying our makeup and adjusting us until we were deemed presentable.

I was so distracted that I didn't see the newest arrivals immediately. Cressida entered the shop in her crisp, perfectly pressed suit along with our interviewer, the very famous Giulia Aulis, the host of a popular variety show called _Hello, Panem._ Catching sight of Cressida, Katniss froze, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes clouded over and she took a deep breath, her exhale rattling her small frame. The movements were so subtle, anyone would have missed them if they didn't know her as well as I did. I could only imagine what Katniss was remembering – Squad 451? The sewers? Finnick? Bogs? Mitchel? Leegs 1 and 2? Messalla? Castor? Homes? Jackson? How many deaths could we list in a row if we chose to? If I knew anything about Katniss' mind, all her thoughts would eventually lead to Prim and the briny darkness that always came afterwards.

Cressida gave Katniss a warm, genuine smile. On the former's side, there was probably a sense of camaraderie from having lived such an intense situation together. And perhaps there should have been. Except that Katniss and I were filled with more of these intense situations than most people had room for in their lives. Like electrical wires that were stripped bare but still alive with a deadly current, so Katniss and I were stripped down and the smallest contact with those tragedies could cause a spark that could ignite to become an inferno. It always came down to how much fire we could take before we burned to ash.

Katniss glanced at me, the most mournful look in her eyes, and before she could linger much longer with Cressida, she turned on her heels and walked directly to the small office at the back of the bakery, pausing just out of the way of the entryway. Excusing myself from a shocked Cressida, I walked to where she sagged against the wall, trembling and panting.

"Peeta, I can't do this. I'm sorry." she gasped. "I thought I could. Maybe if it had been someone else…" She leaned over, resting her hands on her knees, shaking her head as she continued, "I look at her and all I see are the sewers, the mutts…"

I realized at that moment how completely and utterly unprepared we were for all of this and I felt a bitter anger rise up in me. Why should either of us have to relive those dark days again? It wasn't like we didn't live with these things on a daily basis every time we had our night terrors.

I rubbed her back, trying to calm her down when Haymitch appeared.

"What's going on?"

I just shook my head, focusing on calming her tremors, trying to keep my own from overwhelming me and taking me to that dark place I knew I would not easily return from. She turned and put her arms around my waist, burying her head in my chest as her tremors continued. Haymitch took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Why don't you just show them around, Peeta…maybe they'll be happy with that…"

Katniss straightened herself up, turning her pale face towards Haymitch. "No. Peeta's not doing that at all. I want those journalists and every Capitol clown out there to disappear from my life forever. If giving a stupid interview is the only way to get it done, I will. Just give me a minute, okay. Just five minutes of peace, that's all I'm asking for."

"Alright. I'll stall them." said Haymitch gently, walking back out to the front.

I let her cling to me for several minutes. And it was clinging. She seemed to wrap herself around me like a drowning person holds on to the only branch they can find, trying to keep the current from carrying them down a violent river. I thought of my father, the way I held onto him when I had terrible dreams – of the Reaping, my mother's rage – and how he could make the worst specters disappear. I called on that now and held on tightly to Katniss, murmuring in her ear so that she would know that everything, somehow, would be okay. Little by little, her tremors subsided until her breathing was almost imperceptible.

She pulled back to look at me. "What would I do without you?" she whispered.

"I don't know. Not much, probably. I could just go out there and throw everyone the hell out."

A laugh burst out of her lips despite herself and just as explosively, she wrapped her fingers in my hair and pulled me down to her, kissing me without preamble – a deep, searching kiss that sent blood rushing to every inch of the surface of my skin. She pressed her body against mine and I had no place to go as she ground me into the wall. When she broke off, her eyes were hooded and it was all I could do to not shut the office door and have my way with her right there and then, interviewers be damned.

She left one last, lingering kiss on my lips as a promise of things to come before leading us back to the where the cameras awaited.

**XXXXX**

We sat down after we had taken them through the bakery. A random camera man began to count down from ten seconds before filming and Giulia spent each last millisecond ensuring that she was in impeccable order. When the signal was given, she plastered a smile on her face that just screamed insincerity with a hint of rapaciousness, as if she couldn't wait to reap the rewards of our exclusive interview. We began with the usual introductions before Giulia launched into her questions.

"Thank you for the wonderful tour of the new bakery! I have to say, Peeta, you could start a new fashion trend with your hair. It's so much longer than you ever wore it."

I could just feel Katniss rolling her eyes in spirit but I tried to be a good sport. "I didn't really mean to make a statement. I just haven't had a chance to cut it yet."

She laughed maniacally before continuing. "You've both been resolute about staying outside of the public eye. Besides the bakery, what have you both been up to?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "When we returned to District 12, there was very little left of it. The new government has been very generous in making the rebuilding a top priority." I went on to describe the construction of the town center, the University quarter housing the medicine factory and future medical center. I spoke of the volunteers who generously gave up so much of their time to make sure District 12 got back on its feet.

"Yes, District 12's been very busy putting itself together. But I think our viewers are interested in knowing what our Star-Crossed Lovers have been up to this last year." Giulia smiled while the nickname caused a shiver to run down my back. Katniss' grim face became even harder but she offered nothing.

"We've mostly been trying to maintain a normal routine. Starting up the bakery has taken up a great deal of time. Katniss hunts, I bake. It's just how we keep busy." I smiled blandly, hoping that would be enough for her. We really weren't exactly starting revolutions anymore.

Giulia returned my flat smile with an exaggeration that belied her increasing frustration that she was not getting anything spectacular out of me and nothing from Katniss. "Rumor has it you both live together. Can we safely say that things are going well for you on the relationship side?"

I could feel myself blush and looked at Katniss for help. She sighed as if knowing her speaking would be inevitable. "Things are going very well, thank you." She said with finality.

Giulia cleared her throat. "Well, we can see that. You both look fabulous." she laughed that twittering laugh again. "I think our viewers will agree that District 12's recovery has been a remarkable story in its own right." It was clear Giulia was not satisfied with our indistinct answers and her impatience began to break through her façade of geniality. "However, when Katniss returned to District 12, she had been exonerated of the premeditated murder of President Alma Coin. What was your return like under those circumstances?"

I looked over at Haymitch, whose narrowed eyes were boring into Cressida. She shook her head helplessly and turned a venomous stare on Giulia Aulis. This was clearly not a question on the approved list but I pushed ahead anyway. "Honestly, most of the citizens of District 12 have been extremely supportive of our need for privacy while we worked through the events of the war. We did what everyone else is attempting to do – trying to rebuild our lives after the destruction of the war."

"Of course." Giulia looked down at her notes before she continued. "As you know, your role in the revolution cannot be underestimated. The citizens of Panem are extremely interested in your lives. Has it been a difficult transition from Victors to war heroes to citizens of a newly rebuilt District?"

I felt Katniss tense next to me but otherwise volunteered nothing so I continued. "You don't see yourself as these things. We were just two people returning home, trying to make a life after so much violent destruction. Opening the bakery was a way for us to try to get back to normal. So no, we don't see ourselves as anything more than citizens of District 12"

"And of Panem, of course." Pressed Giulia. I was becoming extremely annoyed at her but I repressed the impulse to be snide.

"And of Panem." I repeated.

Giulia nodded before turning her attention to Katniss.

"I know this is a difficult subject, Katniss, and we offer our deepest condolences for the loss of both of your families. What do you think Prim would have thought if she were here to see all of this?"

She stiffened at the mention of her sister's name. Haymitch leaned forward in his chair and tried to signal to Giulia that this was not a line of conversation she should pursue but either she didn't see him or she ignored him. When Katniss turned her stormy grey eyes towards me, I knew the game was up. She had reached some internal limit and there was nothing any of us was going to do to stop her so I just sat back and let it happen.

"Prim?" she repeated, as if she was just understanding the exchange for the first time.

"Yes, your sister. Her death was a great tragedy that all of Panem felt. What would she think of the life you are making?"

She straightened her back in the chair and paused for a few moments, gathering her words to her before she released them, first in a low hiss, which then climbed in intensity until her voice resounded through the empty spaces of the shop.

"Well, I know you want to hear how great we are – how romantic and uplifting out story is to everyone. And maybe it is, but not in the way you think." Katniss took a deep breath before her voice hardened. "I lost Peeta during the war, did you know that?" The crew unconsciously shook their heads, riveted as I was by her sudden intensity.

"He was tortured and hijacked and it's a miracle that he found a way back to himself and to me." At this she gave me a look so full of longing that only I could understand the deep abyss from which it was born before her face became stone against our clueless interviewer. "But if losing just one person that you love completely destroys your soul, imagine what it is like to lose everyone that matters to you. And not just to lose them, but to watch them die, watch your heart explode in front of your eyes or be torn to shreds by mutts or see friends just disappear because you've been through so much that you don't recognize each other anymore. Think what it must be like when every building, every stone you grew up around is now a pile of dust and rubble mixed with the bones of the people you once knew. What would that do to a person? To a group of people? Here in District 12, we crash into the war every time we turn around." Though her voice shook, her eyes held everyone's in steady accusation, daring them to respond. The air quivered with the winter cold and the machinery fell silent around her as we glimpsed our Mockingjay rising again.

"Peeta and I have lost _everything_, do you understand that? And it's not just us. Go out to the Seam; go to the western part of District 12. They're still digging up the bones of the dead." Giulia's eyes grew wide when Katniss' hand swept the room as if the places she mentioned were right before us.

"Have you gone to the meadow during your little tour of District 12? Have you seen the dried grass that grows there? Well, it's a giant grave because no one knows which hand belongs to which arm, whose baby's ashes were lying on the side of the road when we came back, what agony that mother or father felt when their children went up in smoke in their arms." Katniss stood from her chair and positively glowed with her indignation, her voice almost too loud. Behind the camera man, I heard small sobs escape as Cressida and others turned to hide their tears.

"Ask anyone anywhere in this district and they can name at least a dozen people who no longer exist. Prim would have wanted us to be happy, of course. Prim was good and kind like that. She couldn't see anyone suffer, not even a mangy cat or a crippled goat. But there are ghosts here. Mark them. We see them in our nightmares every time we close our eyes. A night without those horrors is a celebration because they are few and far between."

She paused to gather herself like a bird perched on a branch, resting from a long and tiring flight and I watched her in awe, the way she spoke the truth of our lives without shame and I thought again how I had never known so much courage to live in one person. But she wasn't done with them yet. The pale faces of the crew seemed to want to crumble under her wrath and I felt a dark satisfaction at sending them back to the Capitol with this little bit of reality as cold comfort for their troubles here.

"So what would Prim think? What would any of the dead think? They curse us for forgetting them, for pretending that we can dare go on after so much loss. They shame us for thinking that we can just wake up, eat, live our little lives and rebuild without a thought to the void that their destruction has created. That's what you can take back to the Capitol. We are moving on but our story is not the fairy tale you want to sell. No one here is living a fairy tale!" She searched the room for Haymitch, who looked like he wanted to crow with satisfaction. "I have nothing further to add." At that, she turned, almost knocking her chair over as she stormed out of the bakery. I leapt up and ran after her. She didn't stop until she was upstairs in our flat, away from the giant cameras and gawking crowd.

When I had shut and locked the door, she flew into my arms and wrapped herself around me again. We held each other for a long time until she pulled back to look up at me. "Before you say anything, do I have anything to apologize for?" she smirked ruefully, likely remembering my words in the training center during that other interview when I dropped the bomb of her pregnancy on a similarly dumbfounded crowd.

"Nothing at all, Katniss. You should never apologize for anything when it comes to that." I whispered. She nodded shakily and wandered off to our room in a daze, leaving me with my thoughts as I listened to the confused chatter beyond the door filtering up the stairs. In a remarkably short amount of time, the rooms below went silent and there were only Haymitch's steps on the stairs as he approached our rooms.

"I bet they didn't see that coming, did they?" He chuckled to himself.

I agreed with him. "No way. They won't be coming back anytime soon." I shook my head at it all. "Those questions were not on the approved list, were they?"

Haymitch stared at the ground fiercely. "I removed anything I thought would be a trigger for the both of you. Especially questions about Prim. Assholes. Giulia Aulis just asked what she wanted anyway. Should have known better than to trust a Capitol reporter! Dammit! Kids, I'm so sorry." He ran his hand over his face as if trying to erase the look of anger that pinched his features. "How are you both?"

"Nothing some hot chocolate and a cupcake won't solve." I looked at the time and groaned at how late it was. "You want to take the sofa tonight so you don't have to walk all the way back?"

Haymitch considered this for a moment but declined. "I could use the walk." He said simply.

"No, you can't. It's freezing outside. I have a bottle of wine in the closet. I'll get you a blanket and some pajamas and leave you both alone so you can get to know each other better."

Haymitch stretched and removed his jacket. "Now that sounds like a date." I fetched his things and dropped them on the sofa, indicating the guest bathroom. "Hey, you got another one of those cupcakes you were talking about?"

I chuckled. "No self-respecting baker is going to have a house with no cupcakes." I put a couple on a plate for him and grabbed the wine and glass. "Help yourself to whatever you want. Just don't go spilling anything or Katniss will have your behind."

Haymitch just grunted as I left him to his own devices.

When the chocolate was ready, I took it into our bedroom. I found Katniss in her warm pajamas, already burrowed under the blankets, staring blankly at the wall.

"Hey. I brought some comfort food."

Her eyes slid away from the wall to the mug in my hand and I tensed in anticipation. If she ate something, I knew she was going to be okay. She never ate when she was in her deep depression. She sat up slowly and took the hot chocolate from my hand and I expelled a deep breath that I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Was that Haymitch?" she asked between sips.

I nodded as I undressed. "I told him to stay. It's too cold for him to be walking around outside. He'd freeze." I crawled under the covers next to her with my own mug. I offered her a cupcake and, after a moment's hesitation, she took one off the plate.

"He wouldn't freeze. He has too much alcohol in his blood."

I snorted at this and she laughed along with me.

We ate in silence, Katniss moaning slightly as she ate her cupcake. She'd had so few sweets in her life that when she did eat them, it was like she was having them for the first time. It was almost more fun to watch her eat than to actually bake for her. She polished off her cupcake and used the pad of her forefinger to gather up the crumbs. I had a quarter of mine left and put it up to her lips. She gave me a half-smile before making short work of that one also.

"You're a greedy thing." I laughed, relieved that the stress of the evening hadn't pushed her under.

"I can afford to be now." She took a deep breath. "It felt good to let that out." She said, changing subjects.

I furrowed my brow, wondering if I should say what I thought. "I didn't think you were going to make it through, honestly. Or if you got through the interview, you'd be really depressed afterwards." I hedged carefully.

Katniss became shy suddenly, dropping her eyes to the comforter as she spoke. "I didn't think I would either. I was sitting there, remembering everything and I just kept getting more and more angry until I couldn't keep it inside anymore. I could have hit that woman!"

"Well, I don't think she'll forget that interview anytime soon."

"Good, I hope they remember that the next time they get the idiotic idea to come down here again." She leaned back against her pillow. "I just can't stand how things never really change. With all the tragedies that people are going through, all they can think about is our love life. It's all so stupid!" Her anger was rising again and I had to chuckle at her chocolate stained lips quivering in her rage.

"You're preaching to the choir. And you have chocolate all over your face."

She wiped it furiously before calming down. "Fine. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Come here." She tugged me down next to her.

"Greedy _and_ bossy." I smiled as I gathered her to me.

"I am greedy when it comes to you and you are so easy to boss around. You're not difficult and surly like me." She yawned as she said this.

"You're not that difficult and only a little surly." I became serious. "You're just right. To me, you're perfect."

She groaned but squeezed me tighter. "You don't see me like I am. If you did, you wouldn't love me so much."

I pulled back to look at her in irritation. "You're kidding me, right? After everything we've been through, everything we've done, you still think I don't see you? I can list every single one of your imperfections – and it's a pretty good list – and for each one there is an equally compelling reason for why it doesn't matter to me. I see you, you prickly little thing. Or do I have to paint ten more portraits to convince you?"

She shook her head. "No, though I wouldn't mind if the whole world were filled up with your paintings. I believe you. Anyway, it's to my benefit that you have such bad taste."

I became exasperated but was too tired to argue further. "Whatever. Go to sleep. You have to work tomorrow."

"Yes sir." she responded in mock seriousness.

I groaned into her shoulder. "I really hate when people call me that."

**XXXXX**

**My next update will be to Persuasion and then I'll be coming back to Good Again. Chat it up with me here or on titania522 at tumblr and don't forget to check out Everlark Smut Awards to vote for your favorite lemony scenes!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hello, all! I wanted to thank my fabulous beta and friend, SolasVioletta for her wonderful work with this chapter. I don't ever get tired of telling everyone how great she is.**

**I am behind on responding to reviews (as I have been since school started) but that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate each one of you. I have some reviewers who have been with me since day one and I adore you completely and utterly.**

**HG Fanfic Rec: Mind the Gap by Shiwiprincess. It's her first fanfiction but her writing voice is strong. She takes our favorite couple and places them in some of the toughest neighborhoods in London. It promises to be a great read.**

**Also, I Found You by michelle1039 is a unique take on Mockingjay and Peeta's hijacking. Both of these fics are written by two wonderful British writers and they are both a treat to read.**

**I deviated from canon just a little bit on this one. Hope you forgive me!**

**Chapters 28 is one of three parts. I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 28 Acts of Kindness (Part I)**

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing

inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

- _From __**Kindness **__by Naomi Shihab Nye, Words Under the Words: Selected Poems_

I was adamant about not watching the replay of our interview, sure that it had been a disaster. That very night I had such terrible nightmares – dreams of dead people walking, haunting the dust and stones of the Seam, children alight like small candle flames, luminous in their destruction. And in the end was Prim, her baby-face the same one I'd left the day I'd volunteered for the Games, eyes slanted in accusation. But they were not her eyes but those of the terrible mutt-painting Peeta had destroyed the day I disappeared into the woods. The gleam of hatred that glinted in those sky blue eyes was imprinted on my eyelids for days afterwards. The terrors were so persistent, neither Peeta nor I could sleep, causing both of us to drag our way through the following workdays. Despite those garish nights and arduous days, oblivious customers came in for days afterwards congratulating me for speaking the truth about District 12. Many were nothing if not offended on my behalf at the way Prim was brought up to get a dramatic rise out of me. It was almost universally determined that the reaction Giulia Aulis wanted was not the one she got. They could not have imagined that instead of triumph, that interview had pushed me towards a precipice and I clawed and scraped with every bit of my will to keep from going over the edge.

Still, to my chagrin, the interview garnered some of the highest ratings in the history of _Hello, Panem!_ and landed Giulia Aulis at the center of many commentaries. However, it was the condition of war-torn districts that began to receive coverage and, as difficult as that interview was to give, its consequences were not unwelcomed if it meant that the plight of poorer districts began to receive the attention it deserved.

In the days following the interview, I tried to distract myself from the yawning abyss that was growing inside of me by throwing myself into the bakery. The Harvest Festival was fast approaching and it seemed everyone in District 12 wanted bread. Those who were better off, volunteers and the handful of townspeople who had not been wiped out from the firebombing, requested pies and other treats while most everyone else was in search of extra bread for the small meals they would have with their families and closest friends. It would not be a festive occasion – if anything in District 12 had ever truly been festive. With all the sparks of rebirth taking place, there were still too many spirits paying visits to homes buried in the heat of winter hearths.

If I was honest with myself, I knew that I did not regret my words. It burned me that under the glare of the Capitol's cameras, we were all meant to dust ourselves off, plaster on a crooked smile and perform like good marionettes for the satisfaction of a faceless audience. Didn't Capitol children explode alongside my Prim? Didn't Capitol citizens also die in the war? Were they already prepared to anaesthetize all of that loss and human suffering with yet another bit of empty programming, a collective suspension of disbelief? No, my words, once said, could not be recanted.

But in saying them, I had unleashed a kind of knowing that I could not undo. I had been so completely immersed in rebuilding my life with Peeta, I did not chance a very deep look at the circumstances around me. I knew, in an intellectual way, that there were Seam residents still struggling to rebuild after entire families had been wiped out. But somehow, that realization had not penetrated the halo surrounding my own personal life until the interview. I began to suspect that the world had not fundamentally changed; the Capitol still wanted a show and the poorest citizens still lived in misery. All the bloodshed and dead babies in the world did not seem powerful enough to change the course of human events.

I felt myself slowing down – the frenetic energy I had in excess to get the bakery established seemed to dissipate like the foggy breath that expands in winter air until its heat escapes and is no more. Peeta did not notice the ossification of my will, so engrossed was he with the endless minutiae of a well-run bakery. When his hands reached for me at night, I feigned sleep. Even his warm body could not entice me into any feelings of excitement. I was sinking slowly and I was only partially aware of my drowning. Everything became my enemy – the clock that ticked too slowly towards evening and the refuge on my bed, the calendar that sped too quickly toward that one day of the year that I had been dreading and forcibly keeping from the surface of my awareness. Things were converging on me and all I wanted to do was ball myself up against it until it passed.

One day, restless with an unnamed need, I left the bakery at noon under the pretense of running errands, and wandered the length and breadth of District 12. I traveled the Seam, seeing charred homes and rubbled streets, families who, though having more to eat than under the previous regime, still could not call themselves comfortable. Children wrapped in whatever extra clothes could be found shivered as they played on the steps of their dilapidated homes. There was the odd chicken coop; scrawny hens huddled against the cold and piles of damp wood that would need a week to dry before they would be any good for burning in the simple stone hearths of the tiny homes. There was no electricity here so many homes relied on paraffin for the primitive lamps that were common in the days before the Revolution. I thought of our home in the Village, a home so vast that Peeta and I could be lost in its spaces and yet, between both of us we had _two_. A Seam home would fit in one room of ours.

To be fair, there was some temporary housing – little wooden mini-homes for the truly destitute. These could run with electricity but there were too few houses here to make electricity available so their tiny chimneys spewed smoke into the afternoon sky. This, together with the weekly Capitol rations for the needy were probably keeping many of these residents from starvation. In confirmation of this, here and there were collapsed boxes with the new National Seal – a version of my Mockingjay – but they were damp from the snow and partially collapsed, looking half-melted in the slushy dirt. I saw some evidence of gardens around the small homes, though winter had reduced them to dried vines and cracked mounds of earth.

I continued on my way, heading North towards the Upper Quarter, past the ruins of the now abandoned mines. Soon I would be on paved streets again. It was there that I saw the familiar building that once housed the mine offices. I pulled up short, awash in the strange feeling that the line that had dragged me through the Seam somehow ended _there_. It was a fairly old building, square and utilitarian in design. The windows were shiny where the shutters were not closed. Perched on the edge where the dirt roads leading from the Seam rolled up to the concrete of the town center, the solid entrance of the building faced its less affluent neighborhood as if it had been planted accidentally on the paved side of the town.

I hesitated at the steps, my eyes captivated by the new placard, its crisp shininess in stark contrast to the dark wood of the building, stained with age, coal dust and ash. It read "District 12 Community Home." Of course. The town orphanage. The original one was destroyed in the firebombing and so it was clearly moved here to this spot. Though starvation and disease often took children before their time, there were those children who had the even worse destiny of ending up in the Community Home. There was no need to listen to the stories of neglect and abuse that were whispered through the town. It was enough to see these children in school, haggard and bruised, wearing clothes that were often too big or too small for them, some just rags falling from their backs. The chances of survival for those children were slimmer yet than for those in the Seam, if that was at all possible. One of the reasons why I learned to hunt and shut myself off from all society after the death of my father was precisely to keep Prim and I from meeting this terrible fate.

I had no good reason to linger and yet I could not just leave. Curiosity compelled drove me forward so I walked around the building, trying to peek into one of the windows. Inside was a long table set with meager bowls of soup. There was a remarkable lack of animation considering the approximately 20 bedraggled pre-teen and teenage children sitting around the long tables. A stern group of four women were engaged in various tasks as the children seemed to whisper quietly to each other, one woman ladling soup while another one steadied the cart that held the pot. A third woman bustled about, making sure that there were spoons and cups at each seat and the fourth and final woman was trying to make space at the end of the table for a young girl in a wheel chair.

There was a desperate one-sidedness to many of the conversations, the listener appearing to give very little response to the speaker. There was a dead look in the eyes of some of these children that penetrated the expanse of cold air, shimmering through the window pane and seizing my chest with frigid fingers.

I don't know why, but as I backed away from the window, my heart began pounding in my chest. I became less and less interested in my surroundings as I continued East and then South to return to the bakery. I had spent far more than the hour I had estimated and sure enough, as I nudged the back door that lead into the kitchen, Peeta looked up from his labors, his eyebrows raised in askance. This was completely understandable as I had returned with hands as empty as when I'd left. I didn't even try to keep up the pretense of my supposed errands. I just shrugged at him as I washed my hands and donned an apron.

I pushed through the rest of the day, my mind on my work only half the time. I was a jumble of thoughts and feelings that I could not align with any congruity. I desperately longed for the solitude of the woods. We had since moved our things back to Victor's Village so we wound up our day with a walk in the ever darkening afternoon but this afternoon, instead of going home, I lead Peeta to the gated entry to my woods.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

He pulled me back from my teeming thoughts and I scrambled for a moment before answering. "I just wanted to walk in the woods before it got dark. Are you up to it?" I teased but my note hit a false note.

He nodded but looked warily at me. "What's on your mind? You've been distracted the whole day."

"I'll tell you as soon as I know myself. I promise." I grasped his hand tightly as we walked. We lapsed into silence as my thinking went around and around. Peeta was a perfect companion, leaving me to my thoughts. I kept thinking of the children on the steps of their homes, shivering in their hand-me-downs. I saw the dead look in the eyes of those orphans. I thought about the rubble in the Seam, the collapsed mines, the well-paved streets of the center. Too soon, sunset came upon us and we headed back to our house.

As we entered our home, Peeta set about stoking the fire place as I warmed dinner. I looked around the house as if it were an alien thing. I had become attached to this house – it was Peeta's and my home and it had been our constant companion this last year and yet it felt like I was in the wrong place. I felt Buttercup walking between my legs, mewling in that raspy way he had. He was not the most affectionate animal in the world but he was a positive kitten when it came to eating in winter. Hunting was tough in the cold so he wisely buttered me up to get me to feed him and I thought how lucky he was to feel so little.

Setting the table, I heard Peeta's loud footsteps when he entered the kitchen. Soon his arms were encircling me from behind and I instinctively leaned into him. I'd worried him. Just as I feared his flashbacks, so he feared my withdrawals, those excursions that I made into darkness and depression. I felt the cold, deadened lump of my heart and longed for him to thaw it out. Setting down the spoon I was holding, I turned around in his arms and kissed him, winding my arms around his neck and pulling him into me. The nagging unhappiness that had been plaguing me quieted somewhat. Soon I was only aware of him, his snug thermal shirt clinging to his solid arms and shoulders, his fingers against my back. When we broke off our kiss, we were both a bit breathless. I wanted to leave dinner on the table, to escape the gnawing emptiness and so began to tug at the belt buckle of his pants when suddenly his stomach gave a deep growl, causing him to chuckle at himself. This served to definitively squelch that other hunger. Smiling sheepishly, I dropped my hand and we sat down to our meal instead.

After a few moments, Peeta looked squarely at me with an air of expectation. He had a studied air of calm but the tension gathered around his eyes, making that confounding blue shine with searching intensity. I glanced down at my bowl before bringing my eyes up to his again.

"Persistent, aren't we?" I joked with forced cheerfulness.

"You know me." He said simply, but in that way of his that made his words have more than one meaning. He was asking me to _trust_ him. To confide in him. To share my burdens with him.

Taking a deep breath, I gave in to his curiousity. "I took a walk around District 12 today. I wanted to see how things were."

He looked at me quizzically. "So what did you see?"

I began to describe my walk through the Seam, past the coal mines and ending finally with the orphanage. I had his full attention as I told him about the children I'd seen inside.

"There were no babies." I realized suddenly.

"No, there probably wouldn't be." Peeta said seriously as he cleared the table and set himself back down next to me.

Now it was my turn to look at him. "Why does that not surprise you?"

"Those are the District 12 orphans that probably came back from District 13. They would have wanted to keep the young ones but it's hard to place older children. That has always been the problem with the community homes, right? Either the younger ones die or they are adopted but once they get older, I think no one wants them."

This distressed me to no end and that unhappy feeling came back to me. It must have been written all over my face because Peeta's brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "It just seems so unfair. It's like for a lot of these people, nothing has really changed. They are a little bit better fed but they're so cold. And those kids. They probably lost all of their family during the war or never even had anyone. Then came the firebombing, going to a strange new District. The fighting. It must have been so scary for them."

Without warning, tears pushed their way out of my eyes. "Peeta, it doesn't change. Everything we lost was for nothing."

The sinking feeling overcame me and I was suddenly breathless with the enormity of the pain and unhappiness inside of me, as if water had replaced air and I was gulping in what I could not breathe. Peeta's face blanched in fear and soon he was next to me.

"Katniss, what is this?" he asked, gathering me up to him but he knew what it was and knew that, like his flashbacks, he had no real power to stop it. But, being who we are, it never kept us from trying. "Please, don't do this. Not again."

I shook my head and whispered into his chest. "Peeta, it will be a year soon. You know that? A year since she left." I felt that immobility take hold of me. I couldn't ignore it any longer – it was stronger than me. "For no good reason. She's gone." I stood suddenly, unable to endure anything, not the air in the house, the soft cushion of my seat, the smell of dinner that now provoked nausea in me, even Peeta's skin on mine. I kissed Peeta on the cheek – it was the least I could do. Then, without a word, I walked upstairs, pausing to strip down to my underwear before slipping under the blankets. I sunk into the heart of the dark earth, no longer seeing or hearing Peeta's foot falls, or feeling his hand on my braid. His words washed over me without comprehension, the pleading, desperate tone in his voice the only thing that penetrated my pain-addled brain. But I had no more energy remaining to reach back to him. Instead, I was falling into familiar darkness. _This is what it is like to die._

**XXXXX**

I marked the passage of time by the movement of light outside of the partially opened curtain. When it was night, the light disappeared and the bed behind me sagged as Peeta tried to gather me to him. I was now stone where my once malleable body would mold itself to him. He whispered things in my ear, sometimes sweet, sometimes insistent and wet – he delivered his messages bathed in tears but I could not move out of my cocoon. He was so far away and there was no part of me that wanted to reach him. This realization pushed me deeper into myself.

Time passed as I drifted in and out of sleep. When I lost consciousness I dreamed of her dying over and over. She was not forgiving me this. None of it. And worse, it was for nothing and she did not forgive that either. I woke in a cold sweat, being held and rocked, my throat dry and hoarse from screaming but as soon as the waking world reached me, I sunk back into my inert self, balled on my side. I sensed food and water but locked my mouth against it. I smelled the cloud of stale alcohol and heard a murmuring brush of fingers against my cheeks, a raspy, deep voice calling me with a familiar name but I was too far down the tunnel, where Prim and her host of dead waited on the other side.

Soon it was a rustling of a coat, an unfamiliar sterile smell that seemed to jar me for a moment. A pale face framed in dark hair, the cold press of a stethoscope, the easy puncturing of the skin of my arm. I heard the chattering of voices around me but I did not want them so I pretended that they were insect wings buzzing in my ear and burrowed deeper into my spot. Then all became silent and I released the tension in my body, poking my head out to continue my contemplation of the crack near the window sill.

I was in a half-doze when I heard the latch of the bedroom door turn quietly. The sound penetrated the fog of darkness like the diffuse light of a distant searchlight. I thought back to a picture in one of my schoolbooks of a lighthouse perched over a rocky outcropping in the sea, its light attempting to pierce through dense ocean mists, scattered but just perceived by the lonely fishing boat floating askew in the waters.

Steps followed after but they were not Peeta's heavy steps and somehow, this tiny distortion of my expectation caused me to root myself in the present moment. The walking sound was the click, click of lighter feet on fine heels. I knew of only one person who wore such shoes and would take such liberties in my house. I hunkered lower under the sheets, hoping that my body would convey the lack of desire for any company.

The movement stopped momentarily. Perhaps she was taking in the room, the immobile form lying limp yet tense under a pile of thick blankets. Her pause seemed interminable, such that I began to forget her presence when she moved again around the bed to sit next to me. I cracked my eyes open ever so slightly to see her peering down at me with her lovely pastel blue eyes, a gentle expression on her face. She sat for another bit next to me, studying me as if I were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. She then lifted her head to examine the bedroom, nodding to herself in satisfaction.

"I love this green color. The furniture shows nicely against this shade. You matched it very well to this comforter. You know, colors tell a story about people. I've always paid attention to that because I've had to draw conclusions about people based on what they surrounded themselves with." Effie waved her small hand as she described the rooms only she could see. "Cluttery spaces with dense, rich colors indicate a thoughtful, if disorganized mind. Bright colors and spare rooms are for the very ambitious, as if they couldn't be bothered with putting anything more into their living spaces. But beware anyone who favors too much white – in my experience, that never promised anything good."

I thought right away to Snow's white flowers, Coins white rooms in District 13 and all the hospital rooms in which I'd ever been. She was right – white was not a color you could live in.

"You and Peeta have decorated this house with oranges, greens and yellows. To me, those are the colors of life. The green with the wood furniture obviously calls to mind your place in the woods. The orange must belong to Peeta – like the sun – warm and giving. I could say the same for the yellow but there is too much of it to be inconsequential. What does it mean, Katniss? What is the story of that color?" She asked gently.

I don't know why, but I suddenly wanted to speak to her.

"Dandelions." I whispered.

"Dandelions?" she looked at me quizzically.

I took a deep breath, my voice hoarse from lack of use. "The day Peeta gave me the bread, I thought that my family would starve to death. There was no food and hadn't been for a while and I had nowhere left to go. I was searching garbage cans and was near the bakery when his mother ran me off. You know, he burned that bread on purpose?"

"On purpose? I remember you talking about it in the cave." she asked.

"Yes. He'd seen me, saw the shape I was in and burned the bread. His mother beat him because of it but he managed to toss the loaf to me anyway. I went home after that and we ate like we hadn't in days." I paused, lost in the memory.

She remained quiet, waiting for me to continue. I shifted in the bed so that my head slipped out completely from the comforter. She simply reached out and gently pushed the hair from where it had stuck to my forehead.

"The next day, I wanted to thank him. But when I saw his bruised face, I couldn't speak and I never did thank him until years later, the Games." I sat up in the bed now, leaning against the headboard. "I was such a coward." I said bitterly.

"But in the school yard, I saw a blooming dandelion. I picked it up and right away went home to get a bucket. Prim and I went to the meadow and picked every single last one that we could find. That night, we ate what remained of the bread and the flowers, stems and all. That was when I decided that we just might live after all."

Effie looked at me with large eyes, overcome by some feeling I could not quite recognize. "So the yellow represents the first meal you had after you were sure you would die?" she said.

"No, the yellow for me is the dandelion that gave me hope. And to me, Peeta is my dandelion. He is my hope." My voice caught at the end and I lapsed into ragged silence.

The tears that I had not shed slid quietly down Effie's cheeks. To her credit, she did not sob or descend into histrionics. Instead, she wiped them gently from her cheeks and took a deep, shaky breath. We sat like this for a long while, lost in our thoughts. When she finally spoke, she surprised me with what she said.

"When I was in that awful Capitol prison, I thought for sure I would die. They hardly fed me and woke me at all hours of the night to interrogate me. I didn't sleep for at least a week. They tried in every way to pry information I did not have, first using persuasion, then depriving me of sleep and food and finally, beating me." she shivered and instinctively looked over her shoulder as she said this, as if they were coming to take her away at that moment.

"You have to understand. I had always been a daddy's girl. No one had ever put a hand on me in my life. Not even when my father was cross with me, he never touched me. I was ready to die at the first slap. You can imagine afterwards, I just wanted to dissolve into the ground. I would have made things up if only I could avoid that experience again but it didn't stop them from coming back and doing it again, for several nights. Luckily, I had friends who vouched for my loyalty and I was released a few weeks later." She looked down at her hands in shame, as if she shouldn't have had those friends.

"I was in a terrible state when I was released. Every sound I heard made me jump. I dreamed of my nights in the cell. Because I was being monitored, I knew my paranoia at being followed was not exaggerated. I saw them everywhere and couldn't eat anymore. I went to a doctor who prescribed medication that made me throw up every day. Terrible things, those pills. I was starting to lose my girlish figure." She unconsciously ran her hand over her stomach. "I couldn't look at myself in the mirror anymore. I didn't know what had happened to you or Peeta or Haymitch. People I had never imagined would be of any interest to the government were suddenly gone, and no one would say where they had gone. Were they arrested? Had they gone off to fight for the rebels? Everyone I knew was afraid to speak."

She took my hand at this point and held it in her small, warm ones. "I felt so alone, abandoned by everyone who I thought was important to me. So, I played a game with myself. Every time I was hopeless, paranoid or afraid, I began to think of all the good things that I had seen done for me or for someone else. At first, I was in such a state, I couldn't think of much but then, I remembered when I was small and had fallen terribly ill, how my parents had sat up with me the whole night until I was better. There was a friend of mine who collected the most fabulous shoes. She had so many, she went into debt to get the latest ones. She loved me so much, she lent me her best pair of Vesuvius pumps so that I could attend a fashion show." She smiled at the memory. "I remembered a certain person apologizing to me profusely after she thought she had offended me on the Victory Tour, just to preserve my feelings."

"Didn't I hurt your feelings, though?" I asked, riveted by the words that tumbled from her mouth, words I never thought she was capable of.

"At the time, you did because I was a very silly thing. But I also know that you do not apologize very often. If you did it, it was because you wanted me to feel better. That was a little gift in itself." She smiled as she rubbed my hand. "I remembered when Finnick saved Peeta's life in the Arena. To my eyes, it was the most miraculous thing I had ever seen. I think I aged ten years when I saw him on that ground, unmoving." Here her tears flowed unchecked. "You see, Katniss, the world can be a terrible, evil place but it is populated by people who give and love and you have to really cling to these things. And I have never seen anyone love so well as you. Collect these little miracles so when you are in your dark place, they will keep you from staying there. Try it. What can you name?"

I was so enraptured, I did not feel my own tears until they bathed my cheeks. "I..ah…I remember when my father gave me my first bow. I was five and understood what I was getting something important. Peeta tossed me that bread which saved my life. Gale shared his haul with my family even though he had so many mouths to feed. My mother when she woke up from her depression and asked me every night how I wanted the food that I brought cooked. She tried her best to make the things I liked. Rue telling me about the tracker jacker nest so that I could escape the careers. Haymitch's parachutes. Finnick saving Peeta. Greasy Sae taking care of me." I straightened up in my bed. "I guess I could go on."

"You can because there is a lot of good in the world. You just have to see it." She smiled sadly at me.

"You sound like Peeta. He sees good everywhere." I smiled, perhaps for the first time in days.

Effie released my hands and smoothed the blankets unconsciously. "He's waiting for you, you know. Downstairs. I've been at the bakery these last few days." I began to apologize profusely but she wouldn't hear of it. "Nonsense, I enjoyed being the boss for a little while. I run a tight ship, you know. I even managed to drag Haymitch in to help, though I wouldn't let him touch the food until he'd scrubbed himself up to his elbows." Effie blushed a bit. "And you'll never know who came three days in a row to buy a bear's claw for his son."

I perked up at this. "Who?"

Effie dropped her voice, becoming herself in the way she whispered it. "The Mayor."

My sharp intake of breath, together with her way of confessing made me feel lighter. "The Mayor? Effie…"

"Shhh, yes! We chatted for quite a bit. He even waited for customers to be served. He told me he missed our lunches and needed to see me." She giggled.

"Lunches? Have you been on _dates _with him? Do you like him?" I asked.

"A few dates. Nothing exotic. This is District 12, after all." She chuckled at this. "I'm not sure how much I like him. He is a calming person and very kind but I'm out of practice with men. He is also so recently widowed."

"Effie, it's been more than a year." I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with her.

"Yes, but it was a traumatic loss. Those types of things are not so easily overcome." She stated wisely. "What about you? With Peeta? You already live like a married couple and you're engaged. Maybe it's time to take the next step?"

I froze at this. I couldn't even think of that. The thought of marrying Peeta, as much as I loved him, suddenly made me nauseous with fear. Effie saw my expression and quickly attempted damage control. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. That's between the two of you." She twittered nervously.

"No, it's okay." I whispered. I felt we had broken through some barrier and I trusted her with my feelings. "It's complicated. The last time we discussed marriage, it was with all of Panem watching us. There was so much pressure." I paused, uncomfortable with my feelings. "I want that to belong only to us. And then…"

Effie cocked her head to the side, listening intently.

"If something happened to him…to my _husband_…" I rolled the word around in my mouth.

Effie brought her hands up to her mouth. "Katniss, do you think that not marrying him would make losing him somehow less tragic? Do you think it would destroy you any less?" she asked with such kindness that it made me want to put my head on her lap and let her take care of me.

I thought for a moment and shook my head. "Probably not. It's irrational but I would have _more_ to lose."

"Peeta would still be Peeta, whether he is your husband or not. I don't think you are protecting yourself from anything if you avoid being his wife."

We sat in silence, her words hanging like shiny ornaments in the middle of the room.

Effie abruptly straightened up. "Now, I must insist that you allow me to help you out of this bed and into something a bit more…" she looked me up and down. "…presentable. You can't let your public see you in this way! It's just not acceptable." she sniffed.

I smiled at the familiar roles and embraced my place as her charge. "I'm ready."

Pulling me out of bed, she shuffled with her very prim walk to the bathroom to run the shower. "As usual, I certainly have my work cut out for me."

**Come visit me at tumblr: titania522. Chapter 29 will be up very soon!**


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